


"Hope is the thing with feathers..."

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Mystery, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Romance, Wizarding Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-31
Updated: 2006-08-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Two weeks after Sirius Black fell beyond the Veil, Harry is in the midst of mourning (though hedoesn’twant to talk about it) and Lupin is… well, Lupin has other things on his mind.  But Harry and company must learn that not everything is as it seems and the difference between believing and madness is not so straightforward.  SBRL slash





	1. to smell

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

There is always some madness in love.  But there is also always some reason in madness.  ~Friedrich Nietzsche 

 

_Blackness surrounded him, smothered him, embraced him.  As he opened his mouth to scream, it poured down his throat and pooled thickly in his stomach.  He dimly wondered if he was drowning, if his lungs would stop working any moment now.  It was then he realized he was not struggling for breath because he did not need to breathe.  Shadows passed in and out of his vision.  ‘How can absolute shadow have shadows?' he mused.  He thought he heard whispers but they dissipated as soon as he concentrated on them.  His entire body began relaxing muscle by muscle.  All of his instincts screamed at him to fight, never surrender, keep the blackness from encroaching further, stop the numbness.  Words finally reached him from decades past and futures not yet decided._ ** _Will is the key... As long as your will is strong, you will never fail._** _He stretched his arms out, searching for something, anything.  His fingers felt like they were moving through syrup._ ** _Life is not fair, but it is what you make of it_** _.  Reach further, don't stop stretching._ ** _You tried your best.  That's what matters in the end._** _Ignore the voices and keep moving.  Fight the numbness that creeps along bones._ ** _You will always hurt the ones you love._** _Sometimes hurt but always love, always love._ ** _You believed too easily, too much._** _Always believe..._ ** _He's a monster..._** _only a man, nothing more..._ ** _an abomination..._** _so sorry..._ ** _He'll betray you in the end..._** _too many mistakes..._ ** _He was never any good..._** _keep searching..._ ** _HE..._** _further..._ ** _IS..._** _almost there..._ ** _NOT..._** _a little more..._ ** _DEAD!_**

~~

In a corner of London inside a house no one could see, Remus Lupin woke with a gasp.  The old sheets on his bed were soaked in sweat and the air still rang with silent screams.  His first thought was that he was currently in a dusty, dank room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.  A check on the wards showed no signs of tampering or breaking down.  His second thought was that Harry was currently ‘safe' at the Dursleys' and presumably asleep.  The wards he had placed on that house were also not the cause of his abrupt awakening.  There were no shadowy figures creeping about his room and the only noise to reach his sensitive ears was the normal shifting of the ancient house.  

            It took him several moments to untangle the sweaty sheets, stumble out of the bed, and make his way to the warped dresser across the room.  His lungs burned as if he had just run to Hogwarts and back, and every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation.  Remus shakily poured a glass of water from the pitcher Molly had thoughtfully left there earlier and drank greedily.  He stood for a few minutes braced against the dresser with his eyes closed.  Guilt weighed heavily in his stomach, slowly creeping along his skin.  Usually he pushed it away, preferring to think about recent events in a detached, logical way.  Today, however, he allowed the guilt to spill over and spread throughout his entire body.  He had been _too weak_...

            Like every night for the past two weeks, Remus could barely recall the dream that interrupted his slumber.  Images of black hair falling into a laughing face, air laden with hastily cast spells, terrified green eyes, and wisps of a tattered veil tickled the edge of his mind.  Although he could not tell if the same dream plagued him every night, he knew with heavy certainty that they all centered around the events that occurred at the Ministry of Magic not so long ago.  Ever since Sirius Black fell into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, Remus had felt disconnected from reality.  It was as if he was trying to walk through water while the world around him rushed forward.  He knew he would not recognize himself if he looked into the cracked mirror hanging above the dresser.  A part of him acknowledged that he had not changed physically since that day; his hair was streaked with the same amount of grey, the same scars marred his skin in the same places, and his body refused to gain weight from Molly's cooking as it always did.  But the reflection of the mirror could never echo the emptiness that swallowed him from within. 

            It was still too early for any sane person to be starting the day, but Remus knew he would not be able to fall asleep again even if he wanted it more than anything.  Once again, he determinedly pushed the guilt to the furthest reaches of his mind.  His joints ached with fatigue as he slipped on some robes and prepared to go downstairs.  He had half a thought to finish his reports to Dumbledore and continue his search of the vast Black library.  As he reached for the doorknob, however, something made him pause.  After Sirius's death, Remus had moved into the bedroom furthest from Sirius's.  He had barely even bothered gathering his things; most still remained in his old room exactly where he left them.  Any room that Sirius had spent much time in was on the other side of the house.  So why could Remus suddenly smell him?

~~

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, potential Savior-of-the-World- _Again_ , needed new shoes, or his current pair would completely fall apart and he would have to walk around in nothing but socks.  The state of his shoes was at the front of his mind because he was currently staring intensely at his feet.  Harry feared that if he glanced up at the group of witches and wizards standing in his room he might start laughing.  If he started laughing, he didn't think he'd be able to stop, and they would think he'd finally lost it.  He could feel his lips twitch into the smallest of smirks.

            Harry had spent a total of twenty days at the Dursleys' house before receiving a letter that informed him the Order would be picking him up at precisely 2 o'clock the next day and could he be so kind as to inform his aunt and uncle?  He had immediately walked up to Uncle Vernon, shoved the letter into his hands, and calmly told him not to expect him back for the rest of the summer.  Just as they had done for the last twenty days, the Dursleys watched him leave the room with pale faces and slightly narrowed eyes, but said nothing.  

            At the exact moment the clock in the living room struck two, the doorbell rang.  Harry had been lying in bed reading the _Daily Prophet_ when he heard Uncle Vernon reluctantly open the door and allow five ‘freaks' to enter his home.  The Order members, including Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks, found him sitting on his packed trunk in his room reading the latest Quidditch scores.  He could imagine their expressions of complete surprise at finding a subdued, serene Harry patiently waiting to be picked up.  So he carefully folded up the _Prophet_ , stood up, and began the detailed observation of his shoes.  

            Once he thought he could speak without chuckling, Harry looked up at Moody and asked, "How will we be traveling today?  Broomsticks, again?"

            "Ehm," Moody coughed, "Portkey, actually.  And Floo.  It'd be best if I didn't tell you the actual route."  His magical eye was trained on Harry as if he expected him to explode in anger at any moment.  Apparently they remembered his outbursts from last summer.  Harry made a mental note that Dumbledore must have regained some authority with the Ministry to have set up a legal portkey. 

            "Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted.  "All ready?  We've still got a few minutes ‘til the portkey activates." 

            "I'm all packed, but I don't know where Hedwig flew off to." 

            "She's already at Gri... ehem... with the Weasleys.  She must have known you were leaving soon."  

            "The Weasleys are already there?  What about Hermione?"  Harry was anxious to see his friends, if only so that their bickering could distract him from really thinking about certain things.

            "Hermione'll come by in another week.  Ron and Ginny can't wait to see you; they're starting to drive Molly up the wall."

            The three Order members that Harry couldn't remember ever seeing were poking around his room as if it was a museum.  Moody's magic eye was whirring about so fast that it made Harry dizzy while his other eye was fixed on an old Muggle watch he was wearing.  Tonks began changing her hair different colors while she hummed a tune that sounded suspiciously like "It's a Small World."  Finally Moody barked out, "TIME," and everyone gathered around a little girl's rag doll.  Tonks grabbed Hedwig's cage and a tall wizard with a sharp goatee took his trunk.  Harry felt the familiar pull of a portkey and his bedroom began to warp and shift.  

            When he hit the ground, Harry's first thought was that it hadn't been raining when he left the Dursleys'.  It was currently, however, pouring.  He rubbed his side where the trunk had somehow crashed into him and looked around.  Moody and Tonks had their wands at the ready and were peering into the surrounding trees.  From what Harry could tell, they had landed in the middle of a forest.  

            "Where are-"

            "Quiet, Potter!" Moody barked.  "Dulaney, make a quick perimeter check." 

            A rather broad witch with a braided bun in her brown hair slipped into the surrounding vegetation.  She was gone only for a few seconds when she returned with what looked like the oldest man in the world at wand point.  His wrinkled skin was making a determined effort to slip right off his bones and his mouth was almost entirely toothless.  He was holding a rather dilapidated umbrella and seemed not the least bit startled to have five wands pointed at his heart.  

            "When the blazing sun has set in the West..." Tonks recited.  Her face was more set and serious than Harry had ever seen, but he had no clue what she was saying.  He was about to ask her when the old man took one step forward.

            "... you will see it rise from the ashes in the East," he wheezed.  The tension in the group lifted and Dulaney lowered her wand.

            "Edgar," Moody greeted.  "Everything set up?"

            "Everything's ready.  But surely there's no need to rush."  The old man turned hopeful eyes on Harry.  "Would you like a bit of tea before you move on?  I love having people for tea." 

            Before Harry could accept or decline the offer, Moody brushed past him.  "We can't linger!  They expect us back in exactly three minutes." 

            Harry, Tonks and the other Order members followed Mad-Eye and Edgar through the trees until they reached what Harry could only describe as a hovel.  Amidst the towering trees stood a stone hut that looked no bigger than Harry's room at the Dursleys'.  The roof was sagging slightly and the only two windows were loosely covered with what looked like century-old linens.  Inside was no better.  Edgar's home consisted of a bed, a chair, a table, and a bookshelf crammed into one room.  Opposite the bed was a fireplace, where Moody was currently throwing in an abundant amount of floo powder.  

            "This might take a while," Tonks told Harry.  "Remus has recently set up a very complicated security system on the connection to headquarters."

            "You can ward floo connections?" Harry asked in amazement.  He realized he wouldn't be able to contact Grimmauld Place through the Floo anymore, and then remembered that there was no more reason for him to try.  Harry blocked that thought from going any further.  Moody was currently waving his wand, reciting one spell after another.  The flames had turned purple instead of green when the powder was thrown in, and Harry wondered if that was the sign for a locked floo connection.  

            "Well, _Remus_ can ward floo connections.  He can put a ward on anything-if he has enough time and energy."  Harry detected a hint of bitterness in Tonks's voice as she magically dried them all off.  "In fact, I think Dumbledore had him put up extra wards on Privet Drive when you started at Hogwarts."

            Before Harry could inquire more about the wards around the Dursleys', Edgar tottered up to him.  "If you see Albus, can you tell him to stop by sometime?  It's been a while since his last visit and I've saved a bottle of Jumping Jupiter Brandy just for him."

            "Sure thing, Ed-"

            "PASSWORD ACCEPTED.  PROCEED."  The disconnected voice coming from the fireplace was so loud and sudden that Moody nearly tumbled backwards.  Tonks stumbled onto, and broke, the only chair in the room.  The wizard with the goatee was quick to repair the damage with a swish of his wand, but Tonks continued to apologize to Edgar, who was rubbing his obviously sore ears.  

            "I'm terribly sorry, didn't mean to..."

            "Alright, Potter, get ready to go.  Hortkins, you go first," Moody growled from the fireplace.  Harry noticed the flames had finally turned green.  Hortkins, a wizard with rather large eyes and ears stepped into the flames, shouted, "Lupin Cottage, party of six!" and disappeared.

            "Your turn, Potter," Moody said as he pushed Harry into the flames.  "Ask for Lupin Cottage, and try not to move too much.  Things may get bumpy."

            "But don't we want to go to-" 

            "Now, Potter!  Before the connection closes!" 

            Just as the flames flashed red in what Harry guessed was a time warning, he shouted, "Lupin Cottage!" and Edgar's little hovel disappeared from sight.  

            Harry's first trip by floo powder had not been smooth at all and he ended up in the completely wrong destination.  So although he was prepared for the spinning and disorientation, and Moody had warned him about it getting ‘bumpy', Harry became completely winded.  It seemed as if the entire world was flashing in front of his eyes and the breath was actually being drawn out of him.  Just when he thought he was going to pass out, his body lurched to a sudden stop.  He could see what looked like a rather cozy living room through the flames.  Before he could even think about stepping out, however, he started spinning again.  When he looked out, the same living room was appearing over and over.  His body was knocked back and forth for several moments and all he could think about was how the Boy-Who-Lived just got trapped in a floo connection and was going to die in between grates.  

            The moment he began mentally writing his will, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace.  The stone floor he landed on was obviously not from that cozy living room and the voices around him seemed awfully familiar.  He opened his eyes, although he didn't recall closing them, just in time to see Ron offering him a hand up and Tonks stumbling out of the fire.   

            "Harry, mate!"  Ron had hauled him up and slapped his shoulder.  "You won't believe how boring it's been here!  Nobody around here seems to care about the Quidditch standings..." 

            "Nobody?  What am I?  Dust?"  Ginny gave Harry a quick hug before playfully hitting her brother's arm.  "I'm glad you're here so I can finally have actual conversations."  

            Molly Weasley, matriarch of the Weasley clan, enveloped Harry in a bone-crushing hug.  "Harry!  It's so wonderful to see you again.  You are far too skinny.  What have those Muggles been feeding you?"  As Mrs. Weasley ranted about barbaric Muggles and checked Harry up and down for any sign of injury, he managed to say hello to Ron and Ginny.  It was obvious now that he had actually ended up at Grimmauld Place and he was currently in the kitchen.  Arthur Weasley was seated at the table with a copy of the _Prophet_ , Hortkins had made himself a cup of tea, Tonks was brushing soot off her robes, and Moody was closing the floo connection.  Professor Lupin smiled cordially at Harry from the doorway, but did not interrupt the enthusiastic greeting until Mrs. Weasley had begun to repeat her concerns on Harry's eating habits.  

            "How about we take your belongings up to your room, Harry?"  Lupin picked up one side Harry's trunk.  The witch Dulaney and the goateed wizard had already left.  

            "Hello, Professor."  Harry smiled and picked up the other end.

            "Remus, you have got to do something about that security system!" Tonks walked towards them with Hedwig's cage.  "That voice could be heard three miles away.  I'm surprised the entire Ministry didn't show up."

            "I'll look into it, Nymphadora, but I'm quite busy at the moment."  Lupin's eyes twinkled.  

            "Don't call me Nymphadora!"

            Tonks' protests fell silent, however, once they reached the main hallway.  Ginny and Ron were following them and glanced every so often at where Mrs. Black's portrait was covered by curtains.  Harry was a little disappointed that the painting was still stubbornly stuck on the wall.  The group had made it to the stairs without incident when Tonks tripped on a step a dropped Hedwig's cage.  The crash echoed up the staircase and down the hallway.  Everyone held their breaths.  

            " _Dirt!  Scum!  How dare you enter this house!  How dare you defile the Noble House of Black!  Mudbloods! Blood-traitors! Monster!  Unworthy acquaintances of a worthless son!"_   

            Something snapped in the air.  Harry had expected Lupin to run to the portrait and attempt to shut the curtains.  Instead, Lupin gently lowered Harry's trunk, walked calmly up to the portrait, and said pleasantly, "Oh, come now, Cassiopeia!  Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack... again."

            Mrs. Black's face became ashen and her eyes gleamed madly.  " _You! You half-breed monster!  How dare you!"_

"How dare I?"  Lupin spoke as if he were merely having tea with an old friend.  "Well, I suppose I got a lot of daring from my friends.  Yes, Sirius seems to have- _rubbed_ off on me- quite a bit I guess."  Whatever Lupin had said or implied had hit a nerve with Mrs. Black.  Her face became blotchy with anger and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

            " _You freak!  Even vile scum like other Dark Creatures would never associate with the likes of you!"_

"Oh, yes, I am quite freaky in my own way-I call it personality," Lupin replied, although the portrait ignored him.

            " _You will never fit in!  You will die screaming and alone and in pain!  You should be put down, scum!_ "

            "And yet, I seem to be unable to kick the bucket."

            " _No, dying is for that abomination!  The shame of my flesh!  Corrupted beyond repair!  Dying was the best thing he's ever done!"_ Harry felt something burning in his throat.

            "Do you want to know a secret, Cassiopeia?"  Lupin's eyes had acquired a gleam that reminded Harry that he was once a Marauder.  Mrs. Black had paused in her tirade, and eyed Lupin distrustfully.  Once he was sure she was paying attention, he leaned in closer.  Everyone in the house was now watching at the end of the hall.  Ron looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe properly, Ginny's jaw was completely slack, and Mrs. Weasley looked like she was getting ready to call St. Mungo's.  

            "The secret, my _dear_ Mrs. Black," Remus whispered so low that everyone leaned a bit closer to hear, "The secret is that Sirius was not an abomination since birth."  Mrs. Black let out a cross between a gasp and a snarl.  "No, Sirius was-corrupted, did you say?-by his friends.  You are right.  Us Muggle-loving mudbloods and blood-traitors led Sirius down the path of wickedness.  Do you know what else?"  Lupin's voice lowered even further.  "I, for one, certainly enjoyed _corrupting_ every inch of him!"

            Mrs. Black nearly jumped out of her frame.  

            " _YOU!  BEAST!  FILTHY... HORRIBLE... UNNATURAL... VILE... LEAVE THIS HOUSE NOW, MONSTER!"_

"Or what, Cassie?  You'll bite me?"  Lupin stepped back from the painting and actually _growled_.  "I must warn you... _I bite back_."

              Harry had never seen Lupin look so terrifying before.  He had straightened to his full height, his muscles were all tensed, and he gave off a magical energy that crackled in the air.  There was a sneer on Lupin's face that showed far too many teeth.  The worst part was his eyes.  They were like stone and fire at the same time, nearly golden in their intensity.  Harry had only seen eyes like that when Sirius tried to kill Wormtail in the Shrieking Shack.

            With a swish of his robes that would have made Snape proud, Lupin strode back to the others, grasped Harry's trunk, and heaved it up the stairs.  Harry, Tonks, and the Weasleys were all frozen in place.  Lupin had either shocked Mrs. Black speechless or had finally found a way to silence her with magic.  Her eyes were still staring at where Lupin had been standing, her mouth was slightly open, and she could only emit strange gargles and huffs.

            "Well, um, let's just get you to your room, shall we?" Tonks broke the silence.  She didn't even bother to whisper, since Mrs. Black was paying them no attention. 

            "Yeah, sure."  Harry started up the stairs where Lupin had disappeared just a few moments ago.

            "I have to go start dinner," Mrs. Weasley mumbled.  Slowly the hallway emptied until only Mrs. Black and her madness remained.

            

~~

 

 Remus flung the door open to Ron and Harry's room.  Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered about nervously from his abrupt entrance, but he was still too incensed to care.  He hauled Harry's trunk across the room as if it weighed a feather and placed it in front of his bed.  _How dare_ I _?_ he thought.  _Her son just died and she can't even let his memory rest in peace!_

The anger drained away from him as he paced the room, to be replaced with mortification.  He had just lost control in front of everyone, including Harry.  Remus hadn't meant to talk to the portrait.  Normally he would ignore her taunts and close the curtains.  However, the last few days had left him wound up and twitchy.  Ever since Remus had caught a whiff of Sirius's scent in his bedroom, he began to smell him everywhere.  

            It wasn't like the minute traces left behind from before his death.  Whenever Remus entered a room, or a slight draft reached his face, he could smell _Sirius_.  Often he caught himself thinking that Sirius had only just left the room.  If he looked hard enough, he would find Sirius pacing the house like a trapped animal or sitting in Buckbeak's room in an almost catatonic state.  He sometimes expected Sirius to walk into a room any minute.

            When Mrs. Black mentioned her ‘worthless' son, Remus could almost _feel_ Sirius tensing next to him.  He could smell Sirius's frustration and anger.  And suddenly whatever had wound up inside him had snapped.  Remus could hear the others approaching the room and tried to compose himself.  _Did they hear everything?_ he wondered.  _Did they_ understand _everything?_ He could only hope they hadn't.

            By the time Harry and the others entered the room, Remus had put on his most reassuring and welcoming ‘Professor Face'.  It wouldn't do to have the children think he wasn't his usual strong, reliable self.  He could tell that they were a bit uncertain about what they would find.  Ron was avoiding looking at him and perched on his bed as far from him as possible.  Ginny and Tonks had the same questioning, pity-filled gaze.  Harry's eyes nearly begged him to act normally.  If Remus ignored what happened, then Harry could ignore it, and it never actually happened.  Remus never lost his control, Mrs. Black never mentioned Sirius, and they could all pretend that everything was perfectly okay.

            "Professor," Harry greeted in an almost pleading voice.    

            "Your bed has already been prepared," Remus spoke brusquely but warmly.  "As you can see, Hedwig has already arrived.  Most of the house has been cleaned up by now, so you can wander where you wish.  I would avoid the third floor linen closet, however.  I'm still not quite sure what has made its nest in there."

            "Okay."  Remus could see the relief in Harry's face.  

            "Remus..." Tonks began.  She did not look satisfied with Remus's calm demeanor.  

            "Tonks.  I really should get going.  Reports don't write themselves."  Remus headed towards the door.

            "But what about what hap-"

            "I just remembered!" Remus interrupted.  "Dumbledore wanted to speak to you again about your latest mission.  I'll see you all at dinner."

            Before Tonks could question him again, Remus left the room.  He thought he could hear a disgruntled huff and a muttered, "Just let him go."  Sirius's smell hung heavily in the air.


	2. to see

  
Author's notes: This Chapter: Harry learns more about his godfather, and the full moon is not helping Remus's state of mind.  


* * *

In every heart there is a room / A sanctuary safe and strong / To heal the wounds from lovers past / Until a new one comes along.  
I spoke to you in cautious tones / You answered me with no pretense / And still I feel I said too much / My silence is my self defense.  
~Billy Joel “And So It Goes” 

Harry quickly found a routine at Grimmauld that, although sometimes dreadfully dull, kept him from retreating into his rather chaotic thoughts.  For a week after he arrived, Harry woke up each morning before Ron and helped Mrs. Weasley cook breakfast.  Most of the morning was spent battling the furthest, and therefore dirtiest, reaches of the house.  Lupin was correct in that very few places still needed heavy cleaning.

              After lunch, Harry would spend some time with Ron and Ginny.  Most of the time they would talk about nothing particular, but every now and then he and Ginny would get into a rather heated debate about some of the most random topics.  Usually they would play chess or Exploding Snap.  On one memorable afternoon, they tested out Fred and George’s newest invention, The Bored Game.  Harry was still finding green gook in his hair.  In the evenings the three of them attempted some of their schoolwork (Hermione would be impressed—even Ron put forth some effort).  Usually these study sessions ended in a discussion of the latest Quidditch scores.   

            Grimmauld Place was still headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry tried his hardest to get any information from the numerous people coming and going, but to no avail.  Tonks was apparently in between missions for the Order, so spent most of her time after work at Grimmauld with them.  Her stories about being an Auror were highly entertaining.  Lupin appeared at random times carrying numerous scrolls and sometimes sporting, to Harry’s immense curiosity, nasty looking cuts and bruises.  Tonks let slip that he was an ambassador of sorts for the Order to various Dark Creatures, and some were not entirely friendly.

              Although Harry enjoyed his time at Grimmauld more than he ever could at the Dursleys’, something began to irritate him.  Besides Lupin’s outburst the first night he arrived (Mrs. Black was still silently moping in her frame to the relief of everyone in the house), no one mentioned Sirius.  Harry didn’t mind _not_ talking about him, since it avoided rather uncomfortable questions, but it seemed as if Sirius had never even existed.  Even Snape, on the one horrible occasion that Harry saw him, did not attempt to goad Harry about his godfather.

              When Hermione finally arrived, glowing slightly from her trip to Rome with her parents, Harry was beginning to think he was going a bit crazy.  She had greeted Harry, Ron, and Ginny enthusiastically before they settled down in the girls’ room to catch up.  Ron had blushed fiercely when Hermione sat next to him, and Hermione glanced a bit too often at Ron.  Normal occurrences, but Harry was waiting for pitying looks from her that never came.  Hermione had just finished telling them about her experiences in Italy when Harry finally mentioned his concerns.

             “That’s just silly, Harry,” Ginny said gently.  “Of course we all remember Sirius.”

            “Yeah, we can’t just _forget_ what happened at the Ministry.  After all, we were there.”  Ron started rubbing at a scar on his wrist.  Harry was beginning to regret ever bringing the topic up.

              Hermione finally sent him the sympathetic glance.  “I’m sure everyone in the Order still feels his absence.  They’re just trying to adjust to the harsh reality of war.  After all, for some of them it only seemed like an adventure of sorts before…”

            “I guess so.”  Harry _really_ regretted mentioning it now.

             “I think most people are just trying to… I dunno, move on.”  Ron looked to Hermione for agreement.

            Ginny snorted.  “Some people are in such denial that they don’t even know what ‘move on’ means.”

             “What are you talking about?”  Harry remembered Ginny had mentioned something about denial when Lupin blew off Tonks that first night.

            “Lupin, of course.”

            “That’s right!” Ron unexpectedly jumped in.  “That’s probably also why no one even mentions Sirius in this house.”

            “Am I missing something?”  Harry was starting to get frustrated.

            “Well, you and Hermione don’t know this ‘cause you weren’t here yet.  Bill came here the night after Sirius fell, trying to see if he could help somehow.”

            “He says that no one could even get in the house until Lupin showed up and opened the door for them,” Ginny continued.  “Once they were inside, Lupin went straight up to Sirius’s bedroom and locked the door.”

            “He warded it so much that Bill reckons Dumbledore couldn’t even get in if he wanted.”

            “Then he grabbed a few clothes from his room, found the bedroom furthest away, and moved in there.  He hasn’t said a word to anyone about it, even when Mum mentioned that she wanted to clean Sirius’s room out.”

            “I bet everyone took that as a cue not to mention Sirius at all.”  Ron nodded in satisfaction at his own conclusion.

            “But why would Professor Lupin lock up Sirius’s things?” Hermione pondered.

            “No one knows.  Fred and George tried to get in there once, but they ended up with nasty rashes for days.  Among other things…”

            “Serves them right,” Hermione huffed.  “If Lupin doesn’t want them in there it’s for a reason.”

            Harry had remained silent through Ron and Ginny’s explanation.  For some reason, Lupin had prevented anyone from entering Sirius’s room, even his own godson.  This last thought triggered a realization that hit Harry hard in the stomach.  “I don’t think I have ever been in Sirius’s room.  I don’t even know where it is.”

             The other three looked at Harry with pity in their eyes.  _Great_ , Harry thought, _more pity_.

            “Come on, mate.  We’ve got some time before dinner.”  Ron practically lifted Harry off the floor and led him out of the room.  Hermione and Ginny followed silently behind.  Harry didn’t want to come face to face with Sirius’s absence, but he desperately needed to see evidence that his godfather had lived and cared for him.  They walked up the stairs to the second floor where Harry knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Fred and George had their rooms.  After passing several closed doors they reached another hallway.  To the right appeared to be a study and library.  Ron led him to the left.  As they ventured further down this hallway, Harry began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  There were two doors next to each other at the end of the hallway, one partially open and the other virtually glowing with magic.

               “Here we are,” Ginny muttered.  They stood in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the warded door.  They all knew it would be foolish to try to open it.

            “What’s the room next to it?  That door isn’t warded.”  Even as Harry spoke, he inched towards the partially open door.

            “Lupin’s old room.”

            “I don’t think you should go in there, Harry,” Hermione whispered.  “It’s still his room and that’s an invasion of privacy.”

            “He abandoned it, Hermione,” Ron hissed back.  “He obviously doesn’t care.”

            Before Hermione could object again, Harry entered the room.  Ron and Ginny, with Hermione reluctantly following them, entered soon after.  The room was cluttered and reminiscent of Lupin’s office at Hogwarts when he had taught Harry Defense.  A small, tidy bed was shoved in the corner furthest from the door.  Other than that, the room could have been a study.  In fact, Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been its original purpose.

              Bookshelves were overflowing with strange skeletons, jars full of ominous relics, and an overabundance of ancient books.  A cabinet on one wall was apparently converted to a closet or dresser.  A large desk was the centerpiece of the room, piled with papers and open books.  A broken quill lay morosely next to a dried up ink pot.  Dust covered almost every surface.  It looked just like Ron had said—abandoned.  And then Harry noticed another door.  It was on the wall shared with Sirius’s room, and also gave signs of heavy warding.

            “Do you think,” Harry began quietly, “that their rooms were connected?”

              “It looks like it.”  Ginny also spoke softly.  It was like they were intruding on something sacred, and even their voices were unwelcome.

            “This is madness,” Hermione hissed.  “This is wrong.”

            Ron wandered over to the desk.  “I wonder what he was working on, and if he ever finished it.”  He spoke as if Lupin was the one that died.

            “This is so… weird.”  Harry turned to look at Hermione.  She seemed to have gotten over the wrongness of their actions and was peering attentively around the room.

            “What’s weird?”

            “There are no personal effects.  Plenty of books and artifacts, but no pictures.  There’s nothing to indicate that Lupin had a life outside his research.”

            Harry knew she was right.  Everything belonged in a classroom, not a bedroom.  He realized he had been expecting to find a picture of his parents or Sirius, or even something that spoke of the Marauders and their adventures.  He felt vaguely disappointed.

              “Maybe Lupin took them with him to his new room,” Ron guessed.

            “No, I don’t think so.”  Ginny was studying the skull of what looked like a bird.  “Remember what Bill said?  He only grabbed some clothes.”

            “Let’s go.  I don’t want to be found in here.”  Hermione quickly strode out of the room.  Reluctantly, the others followed.

            Dinner was an unusually subdued affair.  Lupin had shown up that afternoon looking paler than ever.  He barely touched his food and only nodded politely to Harry’s greeting.  Tonks was visiting again but spent most of the meal looking concernedly at Lupin.  Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione couldn’t quite shake off the eerie feelings from the visit to Lupin’s old room.  Only Molly Weasley attempted normal conversation with them, and was failing miserably.  Arthur Weasley tried to help his wife by commenting on the newest Ministry regulations concerning Muggle relations.

            As he told a fascinated Hermione about the new Muggle Ambassador program, Lupin went to the stove to make some tea.  Harry watched as he poured out two cups, putting two scoops of sugar in one and a bit of cinnamon in the other.  Lupin stopped abruptly and, with a slight frown on his face, dumped the cinnamon flavored cup down the drain.  Harry was the only one who noticed.

             “Full moon’s tonight,” Ginny whispered confidentially when they were once again in the girls’ room.  “That’s why everything was so silent at dinner.”

            “I thought Tonks seemed a bit anxious.  She’s worried about Lupin.”  Hermione shared a significant glance with Ginny.

            “What are you on about?” Ron glared at them.

            “Tonks has a bit of a crush on Lupin.  Can’t you tell?” Hermione asked smugly.

            “But he’s so much older than her!  Not to mention he doesn’t look the slightest bit inter—”

            “Where does Lupin go during full moons?” Harry interrupted.  The musings of his friends about the love lives of adults was one of the last things he wanted to talk about.  He had several questions he’d been dying to ask since dinner.

            “I think there’s a room set aside just for him in the cellar.”

            “On the months that Snape’s ‘too busy’ to brew the Wolfsbane Potion I think he goes somewhere outside the city,” Ginny added.  When Hermione saw the puzzled look on his face, she spoke up.

            “That’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”

              “Well, it’s just that… how is it we are still at Grimmauld Place?  Shouldn’t Malfoy or somebody have inherited it?”  The others suddenly couldn’t look him in the eyes.  _Curses!_ Harry thought.  _I’ve gone and brought it up again!  How is it that the topic I wish to avoid is the first thing out of my mouth?_

“It’s a bit complicated,” Ron spoke up.  Hermione and Ginny looked at him in surprise.  It wasn’t often that Ron knew more than any of them about something.  “I overheard Mum, Lupin, and Dumbledore talking about it when we first got here.  Sirius did write a will recently, most likely right after Christmas.  The goblins at Gringotts approved it and everything.”

            “Bill says the goblins aren’t too picky about their clientele, as long as they have paperwork,” Ginny mumbled.

            “That’s probably how Sirius was able to buy you that Firebolt, Harry!  He could do it by mail as long as he had the right papers and keys and they wouldn’t ask too many questions.  Quite brilliant, really.”  Hermione started to get lost in thought.

            “Anyway,” Ron continued, “Sirius wrote his will out to leave you most of his money and property.  But there’s been a snag.  Lupin was named executor of the estate.  In order for him to hold that position, he’d have to have been given at least fifteen percent of the estate in the will.”

            “But the laws passed by Umbridge last spring prohibit werewolves from inheriting more than five percent,” Harry said in sudden understanding.  At their incredulous looks, he added, “What?  I’ve been reading the _Prophet_ lately.”

            “I reckon they would usually simply scale back Lupin’s inheritance to five percent in accordance with the new laws, but he’s the executor.  There hasn’t been a case of a werewolf executor in ages so the law doesn’t cover that, and he can’t be unmade executor because it’s specified in the will.  And he can’t be the executor with only five percent.”

            “But what’s this got to do with Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked impatiently.

            “I’m getting to it!  Well that puts the entire inheritance in a legal bind.  Plus there are the political knots.”

            “There’s more?”

            “Yep.  In order to process the will, the Ministry has to officially declare Sirius dead.  However, they can only do that by admitting he was at the Ministry that night fighting _against_ the Death Eaters.  Then they would have to explain that he was truly innocent and fighting for Dumbledore.”  Ron was getting on a roll.  “Fudge doesn’t want to face an inquiry about Sirius’s arrest or hurt the Ministry’s reputation any more than it has been.  So, the entire inheritance is in a type of limbo.  Nothing can be done until Dumbledore can convince Fudge to declare Sirius’s innocence and the law can be adjusted or abolished.”  Hermione gazed at Ron with a disbelieving admiration.

            “And the house?”

            “Well, the house wants to pass on to the closest blood relative, but it has to follow Sirius’s will.  And until the will is executed, it has to remain in the hands of its current owners.”

            “But Sirius was the owner!”

            “Haven’t you noticed, Harry?” Hermione spoke up.  “The only other person able to enter the house last year without waiting for someone to open the door was Lupin.  According to Bill they could only enter headquarters after Sirius died when Lupin let them in.  When Sirius was setting up headquarters at Grimmauld, he must have altered the wards or keys or _something_ to make Lupin a co-owner.”

            “It makes sense,” Ginny contemplated.  “Lupin was the only other permanent resident last year.”

            “So basically, we can’t follow Sirius’s will because of some strange legal and political twist, but it doesn’t really matter anyway because the Order still has control of the house.”  Harry’s brain was beginning to hurt.  The entire situation bordered on insanity.

            “From what I overheard, Lupin plans on opening the will on your birthday, ‘Ministry be damned’.”  Ron paused in thought.  “I bet he has a key to Sirius’s vaults somewhere so he can distribute the money accordingly.  He also wanted to sift through Sirius’s things with you present.”

            All of the talk about wills and inheritance was beginning to get to Harry.  His thoughts were starting to center around something he _really_ didn’t want to discuss.  At that memory, a surge of anger went through his body.  “And what about Kreacher?”

            Hermione let out a small gasp.  “I haven’t thought about him since I got here.  I haven’t even _seen_ him!”

            “No one really knows what happened,” Ginny said in a quiet voice.  “One day he was grouching about in the kitchen, the next he simply disappeared.  Lupin and Dumbledore had a rather long conversation after that.  Dumbledore doesn’t seem concerned, so I guess we shouldn’t be either.”

            Harry couldn’t help but think that at least one person responsible for Sirius’s death was now out of the picture.  He only hoped that Kreacher found an end befitting a crazed traitor.  It was then that horrific howling pierced the air.

  ~~  

Remus Lupin was not looking forward to the coming full moon.  It was never an event that he gamely awaited; in fact, most of his life was spent dreading it.  This full moon, however, was the first he would have to endure after Sirius’s death.  So far the symptoms indicated that it would be an especially difficult one.  Remus decided to blame the fact he could almost constantly smell Sirius now.

              He began feeling exhaustion pulling at his bones far sooner than usual.  Although he presented nothing but a calm and patient demeanor, Remus felt his nerves fraying at every little annoyance.  Tonks’s hovering was especially vexing.  Another indication of the moon’s unnaturally strong pull was the sudden occurrence of hallucinations.  Remus had never experienced delusions before.

              It began two days before the full moon was supposed to rise.  Remus had been pacing in his bedroom attempting to stretch out some of his muscles.  He had nearly collapsed when the awareness hit that he would never experience a full moon with a pack ever again.  There were twelve lonely years after James and Lily died, of course, but there was a horrible finality to his current situation.  He hadn’t realized how dependent he had become on Padfoot over the last year.  Grief filled his entire being.

            Remus curled up on his bed with his back pressing against the warped headboard and his arms hugging his knees.  He was astonished to hear a high-pitched keening from somewhere deep in his throat.  Sirius’s death had finally accomplished what James and Lily’s deaths, Sirius’s ‘betrayal’, and twelve extremely painful years had been unable to do—Remus began to cry.  There were hardly any tears, but he could not hold back the grief-filled howling.  Sobs were wrenching through his body, barely allowing him to catch a breath.  He faintly thought how glad he was that he had put a Silencing spell on the room—Molly always got a bit disturbed when she could hear his pacing.

            It was after he regained some control of his emotions and finally lifted his head from his arms that he first saw him.  Sitting directly across from him on the bed, looking like a kicked puppy, was Sirius Black.  He appeared just as he had the day he died—hair slightly unkempt and in need of a trim, grey robes neatly pressed but with some fraying at the sleeves, and face pale but determined.  Remus could smell sadness, guilt, and frustration pouring from him.

              Sirius appeared to be saying something—Remus could see his mouth moving, but he could only hear his own unsteady breathing.  When Sirius realized Remus was looking at him, he tentatively raised his hand.  Remus flinched and let out a gasp before Sirius’s fingers could graze his cheek.

              “You’re not real,” Remus rasped.  “You’re not real; you’re just a figment of my imagination.  I was wishing that you were here and my moon-befuddled mind is supplying your likeness.”

            Remus had to remind himself that the pain that flashed across Sirius’s face meant nothing because Sirius _wasn’t there_.  He closed his eyes against the familiar face, and when he opened them again, Sirius was gone.  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

            Since Remus’s breakdown two days ago, the hallucinations began to occur more and more frequently.  As he sat at a desk in the library reading about Dark Creature confederations in the late medieval ages, Sirius was perusing the bookshelves.  When Remus played a game of chess with Tonks, Sirius was lounging on a nearby couch.  Once, Remus saw him enter the kitchen out of the corner of his eye and nearly turned to greet him.  Arthur Weasley looked slightly concerned, but was reassured by Remus’s claim that everything was fine.  Every time, Remus focused on the fact that Sirius was dead, and the moon was simply affecting his mind more than he would like.

              The worst incident occurred at dinner the night of the full moon.  Things were tense amongst everyone present.  Tonks kept trying to force him to eat something (like it would actually stay down), and the children, for some reason, appeared restless.  He thought it may have had something to do with his condition, but Harry looked like he had other things on his mind.  After Tonks inquired how he was doing for the fifth time, Remus got up to make some tea.  Sirius stuck his tongue out at Tonks, and Remus had to hold down a chuckle.

              He had been in the process of adding cinnamon to Sirius’s cup (just the way he liked it before an evening as Padfoot) when he realized exactly what he had been doing.  For a few brief moments, Remus had thought that Sirius was actually there, sitting next to him at the table and inwardly laughing at Tonks’s fretting.  With a frown, Remus tossed the tea into the sink.  He didn’t feel like staying in the kitchen any more, but thought it might be rude to leave so abruptly.

              As the time drew near to shut himself away from the world, Remus feared that the Wolfsbane would not be able to help much.  There was too much inner turmoil for the wolf to become subdued.  It was unfortunately too late to make it to the cellar at Lupin Cottage.  He would have to transform in Grimmauld Place.  He made his way to the room in the basement set aside specifically for him.  Originally it held hundreds of bottles of wine; the tangy smell of over-ripe grapes still filled the air.  Remus closed the heavy oak door behind him, careful to latch every one of the locks.  He warded the entire room, more than usual due to his uneasy state, and prepared for moonrise.

              There was a shelf high up on the wall where he placed his robes and wand.  He crouched on the cold stone floor and felt his muscles begin to twitch.  The ache in his joints that was present all day began to intensify until every movement was like a sharp stab to his head.  He hoped the Silencing spells would hold.  Sirius was crouched in front of him silently murmuring what Remus assumed was his usual bit of encouragement and comfort.  Remus began to question his sanity when Sirius actually turned into Padfoot and tried to nudge his arm with his nose.  There wasn’t even the cold tingling associated with ghosts.  Padfoot’s muzzle slipped right through his arm.

               He could feel his organs shifting and tightening.  The pain in his muscles and bones was now excruciating.  With the last bit of breath his changing lungs could draw, Remus whispered with all his anger, guilt, fear, and love, “Padfoot…”

            And then he screamed, and knew no more. 


	3. to hear

  
Author's notes:

Remus begins to fear for his sanity, and the others are beginning to notice.

* * *

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.  “Pooh!” he whispered.  “Yes, Piglet?”  “Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw.  “I just wanted to be sure of you.”~A.A. Milne    


No one in Grimmauld Place slept easily that full moon.  The Silencing spells, despite Lupin’s best efforts, could not block out all of the noise of an enraged werewolf.  Harry and Ron attempted to play Exploding Snap and ignore the howling coming from somewhere far below them.  Ginny and Hermione, regardless of Mrs. Weasley’s orders to go to bed, slipped from their room shortly after midnight.  The four of them spent the rest of the night in their own thoughts, occasionally drifting off to sleep.  When Mrs. Weasley found them in the morning, dozing on the floor propped up against one another, she said nothing.  She, too, had the look of someone who stayed up all night, and was obviously more worried than she wanted them to know.  They all shuffled down to the kitchen to eat breakfast, but not before glimpsing a frazzled Madame Pomfrey ascending the stairs.  Mrs. Weasley waved off all of their inquiries with a brisk, “Everything’s fine.”  

            Mr. Weasley appeared downstairs half-way through breakfast carrying a rather bloodied towel, which he quickly vanished with a flick of his wand.

            “Dad?” Ginny asked.  Harry had never heard her sound so vulnerable.  “What happened?”

            Mr. Weasley blinked as if he hadn’t realized they were there.  “Not quite sure, exactly.  Dumbledore assured me that Professor Snape gave Remus the correct dosage of Wolfsbane—and the potion was brewed perfectly,” he added before Ron could say something. 

            “Poor lad,” Mrs. Weasley mumbled from the sink.

            “Yes, well, it actually looked worse than it was, thank Merlin.  Madame Pomfrey was able to fix him up in a snap.  Everything should heal nicely with time.  All he needs now is a bit of rest.”

            “I bet it was that greasy git’s fault.  I don’t care what Dumbledore says about him, I don’t trust Snape.  He’s a lunatic.”  Harry agreed whole-heartedly with Ron.  Hermione, unfortunately, did not.

            “Don’t talk about him like that!  He’s on our side, remember?  And if Dumbledore trusts him, so should we.”  Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron’s gagging noise.  “Besides, the potion isn’t perfect.  If the werewolf is emotionally or mentally unable to aide in fighting off the wolf, the potion is practically useless.”

            “Where’d you hear that?” Harry asked.  “From how Snape goes on about it, that potion _is_ perfect.”

            “I read about it somewhere,” Hermione said indignantly.  “That’s why the Ministry won’t provide funding to create free Wolfsbane services.  There are still large numbers of werewolves out there that would not benefit from the potion.  They prefer staying on the fringe of society away from those that persecute them, and therefore have little reason to put effort into fighting the disease.” 

            “So Lupin is mentally unstable?” Harry asked bitingly.

            “No, I didn’t say that!  I meant that with recent—events—he probably had other things on his mind.”

            Mrs. Weasley decided it was time to interrupt the argument.  

            “Harry?  Would you be a dear and take this food up to Remus?  I want him to eat as soon as he wakes up.”

            Harry obligingly took the tray of food Mrs. Weasley was holding and started up the stairs.  He was glad that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stayed in the kitchen.  It wasn’t hard to remember where Lupin’s new room was.  All Harry had to do was wander as far from the kitchen as possible.  Sure enough, on the top-most floor at the end of the dirtiest hallway, Harry found it.  He thought briefly how inefficient it was to have an injured and exhausted wizard so far away from everything.  The door was slightly ajar, so Harry knocked softly and entered.  Lupin was most likely sleeping. 

            However, when Harry looked up from placing the tray on the bedside table, he found a very awake and very alert Lupin watching him.  He felt his face flushing.

            “Professor!  I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  Mrs. Weasley just wanted me to put this food in here in case you woke up, but obviously you are awake so I’ll just leave and let you eat—”  He knew he was babbling, but Lupin’s piercing gaze was unnerving.

            “Thank you… Harry.”  His voice was barely a croak.  Harry stood awkwardly for a few minutes.  Lupin gazed sadly at the end of his bed.  He appeared to be staring at something.

            “Um—Professor—I was just thinking,” Harry stuttered.  “Maybe it would be better if you moved closer to the—“

            “No.”  Lupin’s voice was quiet but resolute.  He turned his gaze back onto Harry, and softened a little.  “Too many… memories.”  

            Harry’s eyes began to burn.  Lupin returned his gaze to the foot of the bed.  Harry took this opportunity to examine the werewolf’s injuries.  There were a few minor scratches that would heal in no time, but there were several large patches of gauze on his arms.  He could easily smell the Quick-Heal potion Pomfrey had smeared on the gashes.  The thin t-shirt he was wearing had some stains on the sides from where the blood seeped through.  

            “Been… worse.”  Harry jumped and blushed again.  Lupin had caught him staring at the blood and offered the faintest of smiles.

            “Mr. Weasley said you just needed some rest.”

            “Can’t.”  It was obvious that Lupin really needed to sleep, but Harry didn’t know how he could help.  He thought about the nights when he couldn’t stop thinking long enough to fall asleep.  Without a word to Lupin, Harry practically ran from the room.  Slightly out of breath, he returned carrying Ron’s chess set.  

            “I thought maybe you’d like some company,” he said sheepishly.  The relief on Lupin’s face was worth it.

            They didn’t talk for the next half hour due to Lupin’s throat, but that suited Harry just fine.  Lupin was the best teacher Harry ever had, and he liked him a lot; however, there was only one thing that he could think of to talk about and he wanted to avoid that.  Harry had just moved his knight into a rather favorable position when he heard a small sigh.  Lupin had drifted off to sleep.  His face was entirely relaxed and peaceful for the first time Harry could remember.  Hermione’s words from that morning echoed in his head.  _Mentally or emotionally unable…_  He looked closely at Lupin, slumbering quietly on the bed.  _Lupin’s not cracked!_ he determined.  _I don’t care what Hermione says._   Even as he thought this, the memory came unbidden of Lupin pouring two cups of tea.  Quietly, Harry packed up the chess set and left the room.

            When Harry entered the kitchen the next morning for breakfast, he was greeted by the welcome sight of Lupin sitting at the table eating toast.  Some of the gauze had been removed, showing faintly pink remnants of his wounds.  Tonks was the only other person in the room.  She had stopped by the previous evening and inquired after Lupin’s health.  When she found out that he was still sleeping it off, she had decided to stay the night in one of the spare rooms.  Harry didn’t have to look hard to notice that Tonks was not in a very happy state of mind.  She glared at Lupin, emptied her cup of juice in one gulp, and stormed out of the kitchen.  He thought her eyes looked a bit tearful.  

            “Good morning, Harry.”  Lupin’s voice was still quite gravely, but immensely improved from the other day.

            “Morning, Professor,” Harry greeted.  “What’s wrong with Tonks?”

            “She’s… a bit confused right now.  I’m sure it’ll work out.”  Lupin carefully avoided Harry’s eyes.  

            Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were surprisingly the next people to make an appearance at breakfast.  Mrs. Weasley was usually up and making breakfast at this point, but she was mysteriously absent.

            “I’m glad to see you up and about, Professor,” Hermione said.

            “Yeah, it sounded like you’d be out for days,” Ron stated tactlessly.

            Lupin snorted into his pumpkin juice.  “I’m very sorry about that.  I expected the silencing spells to hold more than they did.”

            “Prat!” Ginny hissed to Ron.  Turning to Lupin, she said apologetically, “We were all just concerned about your health.”

            “Well, I’ll probably be bed-bound for the rest of the day.  And I doubt I’ll be able to leave the house for another week.”  Lupin frowned.  “At least, not on any missions.”

            A cane propped against the table caught the attention of Harry.  “What’s that for?”

            Lupin shifted uncomfortably.  “I somehow shattered the bones in my leg.  The transformation back only made it worse.”  He smiled glumly at their shocked expressions.  “Don’t worry.  Poppy is an excellent healer, and I should be fit as a fiddle before you know it.”  

            To Lupin’s obvious relief, Molly Weasley bustled in and put an end to their conversation.  She held a letter in one hand.

            “Oh, you’ll never believe it!” she announced.  “Charlie’s been granted a week off and he’s decided to visit!”

            “Charlie’s coming?  Brilliant!”  Ron gave an ecstatic whoop.  Ginny jumped up and gave her mother a hug. 

            “What time is he expected to arrive?” Hermione asked.  She and Harry shared the excitement of the Weasleys.  Charlie worked with dragons, and would probably have the most entertaining stories to share.

            “In two days.”  Mrs. Weasley was beside herself.  “Oh, dear!  We’ll have to clean this place up a bit.  And set up a proper room for him.”

            “But Mum!” Ginny protested.  “We just finished scouring this entire house—“

            “We cleaned the _upstairs_.  The lower levels probably need another sweep by now.”

            Lupin gathered his dishes together.  “Well, Molly, I won’t be able to help much in that respect.  However, I’m sure Sirius and I could set up a bedroom next to Harry and Ron’s.”

            The entire kitchen fell deathly silent and everyone froze in their places.  Harry felt his heart relocate somewhere near his throat.  Lupin’s face, once he realized what he said, became even paler.  “I suppose I really should be getting back to bed.  These old bones need some more rest.”  He rushed out of the kitchen with as much dignity as he could while heavily favoring his right leg.

            “He must still be a bit confused from the full moon,” Mrs. Weasley rationalized.  Without allowing them any time to ponder about what happened, Mrs. Weasley assigned chores for the day and ushered them out of the kitchen.  

            In all the excitement and preparations for Charlie’s visit over the next two days, Lupin’s slip of the tongue disappeared from Harry’s mind.  Lupin himself contributed as much as he could to the cleaning, but remained a bit aloof.  Harry mostly saw him wandering the rooms, still relying heavily on his cane.  He wasn’t the only one not overly thrilled by the impending visit.  Tonks, who usually made an appearance at least once a day, stopped by once only briefly.  She merely smiled at the Weasley’s eagerness.  

            Charlie’s arrival fell on a day that the Order held a meeting.  There was a constant stream of people entering the house that afternoon; some were familiar to Harry while others were complete unknowns.  Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron watched the parade of witches and wizards from their hiding spot on the staircase.  They spotted McGonagall, Fred and George (members since spring), Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks (who sported a shockingly mundane brown hairdo), Kingsley, and, to their disgust, Snape.  Lupin stood at the door to greet everyone, but received only a cold, calculating look from the potions professor and a rather baleful glare from Tonks.  Dumbledore was the last to arrive.

            They knew from experience that even Fred and George’s Extendable Ears would not help them eavesdrop on the meeting.  So, with a sigh of disappointment, Harry led them all back to his room to wait.  The meeting lasted more than two hours, despite the fact that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been relatively silent for the past few weeks.  Harry had to agree with Hermione’s theory that the Order was conferring over more drastic and possibly direct preventative measures now that Voldemort’s return was recognized by the Ministry.  They spent most of those two hours discussing what those measures could possibly be.  He wondered if Voldemort’s plans were completely derailed from the arrest of so many Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries.  

            When they were finally allowed back downstairs, only the Weasley’s and Lupin remained in the kitchen.  Bill and Mr. Weasley were debating Ministry policy with Lupin, Fred and George were scheming over new Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes products, and Mrs. Weasley was starting to put dinner on the table.  

            “Would you mind helping me, Ginny?” Mrs. Weasley asked.  “Charlie will be here any minute and I want dinner completely ready for him.”  Ginny obliged, but Harry thought he heard her mumble something about “never asks Ron”.  

            Sure enough, as soon as Mrs. Weasley put the last plate on the table the doorbell rang.  She waved at the others to remain seated and hurried to the door.  Harry could hear distant talking, and Mrs. Weasley’s excited inquiries, and then Charlie entered the kitchen.  He had a long, weathered traveling cloak over his uniform, which was slightly singed around the edges, and appeared exactly the same as Harry had last seen him.  Charlie gave his father a brief hug then turned to greet the rest of the room.  Before he could say hello to more than Bill and the twins, Tonks burst through the door carrying several books.

            “Remus, I know you said I’d find the Smarmuth book in the third floor study,” she said frustration, “but I can’t see it anywhere!”  As she darted towards Lupin, she tripped over a chair.  Both her and the books went flying.

            “Oomph…” Ron grunted as a rather large one hit him in the stomach.  Harry and Ginny had both ducked in time.

            “Oh no! You poor thing,” Hermione whispered as she tried to fix the binding on a book that had completely fallen apart.  Ron rubbed his stomach and glared at her.

            “Someone get that book out of the gravy!” Mrs. Weasley bellowed.

            Once the food (and the books) were saved, they prepared to hear Tonks’s flood of apologies.  When none was forthcoming, they all looked towards her.  Charlie had turned just in time to catch Tonks before she hit the floor.  He was now looking down at her with a small smile on his face.  She was staring back up at him. 

            “Oh,” Tonks gasped.  She blushed vividly.  “Hello!”

            Charlie grinned and pulled her to her feet.  “‘Oh, hello’ to you, too.”  Tonks, if it was possible, blushed even more.  

            And then it _was_ possible as her hair slowly turned bright red.

            “I’m Nymphadora Tonks,” she said as she shook his hand.

            “Charlie Weasley.  I remember you from Hogwarts.”  The tips of his ears turned just as red.

            Fred and George began snickering in the background.  Bill grinned and nudged his mother.  Harry saw Ginny and Hermione exchange that awful _knowing_ look.  Lupin seemed pleased.

            “Oi!” Ginny shouted mockingly.  “Haven’t got time to say hello to your only sister?”

            Charlie practically jumped away from Tonks and turned towards Ginny.  “Of course I have!”  He swept her up in a big hug.  “How’s the little princess doing?”

            “The ‘little princess’ is currently starving.  Let’s eat!”  There was a murmur of agreement as people started sitting down at the table.

            “Tonks, dear, I know you said you were quite busy, but are you sure you can’t stay for dinner?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

            “Well…”  Tonks quickly glanced at Charlie.  “I suppose I could stay for a few minutes.”  The twins snickered again.

            Dinner was a boisterous affair.  The entire Weasley clan—noticeably still missing Percy—was gathered together for the first time in quite awhile.  Talk centered around Charlie’s job at a dragon reservation and Fred and George’s prosperous business.  Mrs. Weasley still obviously disapproved of the twins’ choice of vocation, but could not deny that they were doing well for themselves.  Harry was glad that there was no mention of Voldemort, the Ministry, or other current affairs.  The only painful reminder that all was not well with the world occurred during Charlie’s account of one of the practical jokes the dragon trainers played on each other.

            “—So, Johansson heads over to the Horntails—“ he spoke between chuckles.

            “He still didn’t notice what you drew on his uniform?” Hermione interrupted incredulously. 

            “No, he was completely oblivious!”  Everyone started laughing.  “So, he heads over to the Horntails, and Brunhilda—the new mother, remember?—she comes right up to him and starts licking his face!”  Ron was on the floor with laughter.  “He couldn’t get her away from him no matter what he tried.  And then—“ Charlie started laughing, “And then Johansson looks at us and asks, ‘Do you smell peanut butter?’”

            The entire kitchen erupted with laughter.  Once things calmed down a bit, Lupin spoke up.  “That reminds me of a stunt we did at Hogwarts.”  He looked at the empty seat next to him.  “Do you remember, Padfoot, the Niffler and the Ravenclaw Quidditch…” Lupin trailed off.  The laughter and warmth of the kitchen turned icy.  Ginny and Hermione looked like they would start crying any second.  Mrs. Weasley abruptly started clearing the table.  

            “Dessert!” she cried.  “How about some pudding?”

            “That sounds lovely, Molly.”  Lupin’s voice was strained and he avoided all eye contact.  There were no more tense moments for the rest of the evening, but the exuberant cheer of earlier could not be completely restored.  

 

~~

 

Remus’s leg, despite Poppy’s best potions, still ached dreadfully.  Simply walking, or limping in this case, from one room to another was quite a chore.  He didn’t let the others know how much pain he was in; he didn’t want to concern them even more.  They already thought he was still in the depths of mourning, not that he could blame them.  After all, the Wolfsbane potion didn’t work like it should have and he was in apparent denial that Sirius was truly gone.  Remus was beginning to wish that was the case.  

            It was true that the Wolfsbane didn’t work due to his inner turmoil.  That should not have caused such extensive injuries, however.  Remus could recall bits and pieces of that night.  Apparently the hallucinations were present at such a subconscious level that even Moony could see Padfoot.  The poor wolf had been aware that Padfoot was permanently gone and was prepared to mourn the loss of his pack mate.  However, he could still see and smell the black dog, but was unable to touch him.  This caused such rage and frustration that the werewolf went absolutely berserk.

            For several days after the full moon, it was Padfoot that followed Remus around.  It was as if he realized the injuries were his fault, and was in a permanent sulk.  Remus was concerned that these hallucinations were getting worse, not better.  And yet, Padfoot’s constant presence was oddly comforting.  When Sirius finally returned to human form during Charlie’s first night at Grimmauld, it was rather natural for Remus to turn to him for some reminiscing.  

            Since then, Remus was on his guard against falling for the delusions.  But no matter how much he focused his thoughts and steeled his control, he began to slip up more and more.  He became jumpy when in the company of others for fear of saying the wrong thing.  Thankfully they were mostly too caught up in Charlie’s visit to pay him much attention.  Unfortunately, every now and then, he caught a pitying look from Mrs. Weasley, a questioning gaze from Harry, or a calculating stare from Hermione.

            Two days into Charlie’s visit, Remus found himself in the first floor drawing room studying a map of the Black Forest region.  Sirius had changed into Padfoot and curled up in front of the fire.  Remus had his back to the door, but could smell Harry before he even entered.  He had a feeling Harry was going to corner him sooner or later.  _I had hoped for later…_ he thought.  Out loud, Remus said, “Come on in, Harry.  You’re not interrupting anything important.”

            “How did you know it was me?”  Harry entered and sat next to him.

            Remus paused.  “I could smell you.”

            “Smell me?  I took a shower this morning…”

            “Oh, no.  I don’t mean you stink or anything.”  Remus didn’t know why he had even brought this up.  “I could smell _you_.  It’s part of my ‘furry little problem.’”  Padfoot looked up at him and grinned.

            “Really?  So you can always tell when someone’s near?”  Harry must have been thinking of all the times he’d eavesdropped because he suddenly looked guilty.

            “Not always.  If I’m not thinking about it, I can be as oblivious as the next person about scents.”  He smiled faintly.  “One time, James accidentally set off a dungbomb in the dorm.  I was in the middle of a riveting book, and didn’t understand why everyone had suddenly run from the room.” Harry chuckled.  He tried to get a closer look at the map in Remus’s hand, but Remus quickly folded it up and put it away.  A frown creased his forehead.

            “What do I smell like?”

            Remus was taken aback.  He had been expecting Harry to coax for more information about his missions.  “Well, it’s a bit complicated.”

            “Just try,” Harry challenged.

            “Hmm.  I would say sweat and grass, typical of Quidditch players.  A good bit of disinfectant smell, probably from that place the Dursley’s call a home.”  Remus sniffed again.  “Something that reminds me of the sky right before it storms, like the build up of energy.  And—well, I’m not quite sure—but mainly you smell like metal.  Not the sharp tang of iron or the bitter chill of silver.  More like—more like a snitch that’s been out in the sun.  A liquid gold.  It’s warm and welcoming, and _familiar_ , but secretive as well.”

            Harry was staring at him.  Remus felt his cheeks heat up.  He hadn’t meant to ramble on like that.  It felt like he’d just let Harry see the part of himself he never let anyone see before; at least, not anyone still alive.

            “What did Sirius smell like?” Harry asked so quietly that Remus barely heard him.  Remus nearly choked.  Padfoot was now staring questioningly at him.  Harry must have realized that he’d crossed a line.  

            He quickly said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean—it’s just, I was wondering.  You don’t have to—you probably really don’t want to talk about it.”  He stood up.  “I’ll just leave now.”  He started towards the door, but paused a few feet away.  With his back turned to Remus, Harry whispered, “I know you still miss him.  I do, too.”

            Remus knew enough about Harry to know that this admission had taken a lot out of him.  Before Harry could open the door, Remus cleared his throat and blinked a few times.  “Sirius smelled like everything.  And nothing.”

            Harry slowly went back to his chair and waited for him to continue.  Remus closed his eyes and simply breathed for a few moments. 

            “He smelled like the rain.  He smelled like a summer’s breeze from the ocean.”  Memories began to tumble through his mind.  “He smells like cinnamon and fresh leather.”

            “Cinnamon tea,” Harry whispered.

            “He smells like firewhiskey.  When he was little, he had a musty smell from this house.  I think he picked up an icy smell from Azkaban.  He smells like the fields we often visited when we were younger.”  Remus let out a long breath and smiled.  “Mostly, though, he smells like everything I love about life and nothing I could ever replicate.”  When he opened his eyes, Harry had already stood back up.

            “Thank you.”  Harry’s eyes watered.  He quickly left the room.

            Remus sighed again and looked at Padfoot, who was staring sullenly back.  “He’ll be fine.  Time heals almost all wounds, and the young have plenty of time.”  He wasn’t sure whether he was reassuring himself or Sirius.  “He’ll be fine.”

            That night, for the first time in many weeks, Remus was not haunted by dreams of the Veil.  Instead, he found himself immersed in a mixture of memories and fantasies.  He dreamt of Hogwarts, the Marauders, and what should have been.  James ran along the seventh floor corridor to catch the Quidditch game, yelling at the others to hurry.  Harry was playing with a snitch his father had given him.  Lily was making a cake to celebrate Harry’s first letter from Hogwarts.  Remus, Sirius, and James were laughing so hard in the common room that Lily threw a book at them.  Padfoot and Moony were chasing each other through the Forbidden Forest.  Finally, Sirius and Remus were lying side by side in a secret field, watching the sun set and the stars come out.  The Marauders had just performed the Animagus spell successfully for the first time.  

            _‘You’ll never have to be alone again, Remus,’ Sirius had said._ _‘Don’t say that.’ Remus had responded.  ‘No one can promise forever.’_ _‘Well.’  Sirius had shifted closer to Remus.  ‘Think of it this way, then.  As long as I have the power, as long as I’m capable, neither Heaven nor Hell can keep me from you.’_ _Remus had sighed and breathed in Sirius for a few minutes.  For the first time in his life, Remus had been completely peaceful, completely happy._

Remus woke with that peaceful sensation still buzzing through his body.  Sirius was sitting on a chair next to the bed, gazing down out him.

            “Do you remember the meadow in the Forbidden Forest, Moony?  The one only we knew of?  I promised forever there.”  Sirius smiled gently.

            Perhaps the dream had put a haze over his mind.  “I was just dreaming about it.  No one can promise forever, Padfoot.”

            Sirius looked surprised that Remus had answered, but continued the conversation.  “I know.  But no one can escape Azkaban, either.”  Sirius smirked.  “And no one can love a werewolf.”

            “You’re such a pain sometimes.”  Remus smiled.

            “But you love me anyway.”

            Remus sighed.  “Yes.  I love you anyway.”  He paused.  “I’ve missed your voice.”

            “Really?  It’s a bit more worn than when we were younger.  And even then it wasn’t musical or anything.”

            “I know.  I missed it anyway.”  He climbed out of bed and limped over to the dresser.  “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

            “Why not?”  Sirius watched as he got dressed.

            “Because you aren’t real.”

            “I wish you’d stop saying that.”  Sirius frowned.  “I feel unwanted.”

            “But it’s true.  And the more comfortable I become with it, the worse it gets.  I can hear you now, can’t I?”

            “Maybe you’ll actually start listening.”

            Remus picked up his cane and limped out of the room.

            “Prat,” Sirius whispered.  Remus could still hear him from the hallway.

            Yes, Remus wished that he was merely mourning the death of a dear friend as the others thought.  Instead, he feared he was going mad.

         


	4. to touch

  
Author's notes: In this chapter: Remus finally snaps.  


* * *

Forgiveness has nothing to do with forgetting… A wounded person cannot—indeed, should not—think that a faded memory can provide an expiation of the past.  To forgive, one must remember the past, put it into perspective, and move beyond it.  Without remembrance, no wound can be transcended.~Beverly Flanigan  

Harry could be a very unobservant and thick person.  He would even admit it, most of the time.  So when he started feeling concerned about Lupin, Harry knew that it must be pretty bad.  It was clear that everyone in the house was worried, but no one wanted to talk about it at first.  Mrs. Weasley abruptly changed the subject whenever Lupin blundered.  When Harry tried to corner Lupin about it, he somehow got completely distracted.  It was interesting to hear what Sirius smelled like, but Harry didn’t miss Lupin’s slip into the present tense.    
            In the days following, Harry would sometimes hear Lupin talking to himself in the drawing room.  Once, when Harry entered the kitchen with Ron, it seemed that Lupin had abruptly stopped a conversation with someone.  Ginny and Harry had been wandering the third floor (which had a rather interesting potions lab and what looked like a ballroom), when they heard a voice from a closed room.  
            “I’m not saying that it isn’t dangerous,” they heard Lupin say.  
            They didn’t hear anyone else speak.  
            “Look, Dumbledore needs my help in this and I am not about to refuse him.”  
            They heard a chair scrape across the floor.  It sounded like he was now pacing.  
            “I feel like I can achieve something, Padfoot.”  Ginny gasped.  “This may alter the way the Ministry treats us, for the better.  I can’t turn my back on this.”  
            Ginny and Harry left before they could hear more.  
            Later that evening, all the Weasley children plus Harry and Hermione were gathered in the first floor drawing room.  Bill had been staying at Grimmauld while Charlie was in town, as were the twins.  Ron was pestering Charlie to tell them what his job was for the Order.  
            “I can’t tell you that, Ron, and you know it.”  Charlie was looking exasperated.  “All I can tell you is that I’m keeping my ear to the ground, like everyone else, to make sure You-Know-Who isn’t making any big moves in Europe.”  
            “Like recruiting Dark Creatures?” Ginny guessed.  Harry knew she was thinking of what they overheard Lupin talking about earlier.    
            “Well, not exactly.  I mean, it’s rather odd, really.  Any Dark Creature that I run into avoids mentioning anything to do with the war.  There appears to be someone agitating the current power base—what’s his name—Greyback, and they’re waiting to see who comes out on top.”  Charlie caught himself before he could say more.  Bill glared at him, as if he had already said too much.  
            “Besides, Dark Creatures are in Lupin’s area.  Remember what Tonks said?” Hermione put in.  
            Harry looked up from the chess game he was playing with George.  He had a feeling he knew where this was going.  
            “But Lupin said he can’t go on any more missions for at least a week,” Ron stated.  
            “That doesn’t mean that he hasn’t already started some things.”  
            “I’m getting a bit worried about Lupin.”  Surprisingly, it was Fred that brought up what everyone was thinking about.  He was unusually serious looking.  “I don’t think he’s got all the lights on upstairs, if you know what I mean.”  
            “I heard him talking to himself this afternoon,” Ginny said.    
            “It was the same thing in the kitchen yesterday.”  Bill frowned.  “But when I went in, he was the only one there.”  
            “We are all a bit worried about him.”  Everyone jumped.  No one had noticed Mr. Weasley standing in the doorway.  He sighed and sat down next to the fire.  “I think he’s still in pain from Sirius’s death.”  
            “But so are we.  And you don’t see me all cracked.”  Harry was waiting for Mr. Weasley to offer the typical assurances the adults were giving these days.  
            “I know.  But I think it goes beyond that, as well.  Remus told me once that his friends were his family.  His father died just before he left Hogwarts and his mother died shortly after Harry was born.”  Mr. Weasley sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair.  “Sirius was the last of his family.  He’s all alone now, the last one.”  
            The drawing room was quiet.  
            “I don’t know what I would do if I lost even _one_ member of my family.”  Mr. Weasley smiled slightly at them all.  
            “Even Percy?” Ron asked with disgust.  
            “Yes, Ron.  Even Percy.”  Mr. Weasley sighed again.  “Although Percy has made some choices I do not agree with, I am still proud of him.  He is still my son.  I raised him to think for himself, to become independent—and he has.  I can only hope that he finds out who he truly is, that he eventually finds the right path.  I believe in him.”  
            Mr. Weasley walked to the door.  
            “Sometimes, all you can do is believe that things will work out.”  Everyone stayed silent.  “Good night, everyone.”  
            From where he was seated, Harry could see Mr. Weasley walk down the hallway to where Mrs. Weasley was scrubbing the floor.  One of the twins’ experiments had exploded earlier that day and left a nasty stain.    
            “Come, Molly.  Let’s go to bed.”  Mr. Weasley’s words echoed down the hallway.  Everyone in the drawing room was listening.  
            “But, Arthur, this stain is not going away and the children are still up.”  
            “Molly.”  
            “But the children—”  
            “Molly,” Mr. Weasley said in a stern voice.  “We raised them properly.  The children will be fine.”  They all knew he was talking about more than bedtimes.  “You need some rest.”  
            “Oh, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley sighed.  She took off her gloves.  “What would I ever do without you?”  He leant down and kissed her forehead, then led her up the stairs.  
            The drawing room was still silent.  
            “Wow,” George broke the quiet.  “‘Still waters’ and all that.”  
            “Yeah,” Fred said.  “Who knew head-in-the-clouds Dad could have his feet so firmly on the ground?”  
  
~~

Remus was trying his hardest to enjoy the wonderful meal Molly had prepared, but it was near impossible with Sirius sitting across from him.  Sirius was in a right state, and was putting forth a stream of rather hurtful comments.  He thought it was brought on by a conversation they had earlier.  Sirius was tired of Remus treating him like a hallucination, and Remus was tired of Sirius trying to talk to him.  So far, Remus had been able to ignore him in favor of the conversation the Weasleys were having about planning a trip to Diagon Alley.  This fueled Sirius’s anger, however, and soon his sulking was becoming too much.

            “Go ahead, act as if everything’s normal.  Go to Diagon Alley.  Perhaps you’ll feel better about yourself if you were surrounded by normal people rushing about on normal errands.”  Sirius glared as Remus took another forkful of salad.  “Of course, I wouldn’t doubt if you backed out the last minute.  You don’t _want_ to feel normal.  You’d rather continue to mope about and collect pity from everyone.”  

            Remus narrowed his eyes a bit.  

            “In fact, I bet that’s why you’re so glad that Tonks is now fawning over that Weasley.  Can’t have somebody try to love you, for once.  Can’t let someone try to get you to move on.  You want to be a martyr.  You want everyone to think, ‘Poor Remus Lupin!  He has to go through so much every full moon, and he’s lost every last friend.’  You just don’t want to be happy.”

            “That’s not true,” Remus whispered.

            “Did you say something, Remus?” Arthur asked.  Remus shook his head.

            Sirius was just getting warmed up.  “That’s why I stopped trusting you fifteen years ago.  You just didn’t want to be content with what you had.”

            “Stop it,” Remus hissed.

            “Every time I tried to ask what was wrong, you completely shut down.  You shut everyone out.  Is it no wonder I thought you were a spy?”

            “Shut up.”  Remus’s voice was getting louder.  The fine crystal wine goblet he was holding shattered when he clenched his fists.

            “You probably were stone after I was sent to Azkaban as well.  That’s why you let me rot in there for twelve years.  Twelve years, Remus!  Did you decide that it wasn’t worth it to care about anybody?  Got so locked up in yourself that you didn’t care about my _lack of trial_?”

            “Shut up!”  Remus covered his ears with his hands, trying to block Sirius out.  Blood from his injured hand trickled down his cheek.

            “And then you looked away as I was _locked up_ again in this horrid house!  Can’t bring yourself to fix things for the better.  Rather wallow in self-pity.  We tried to get you to see beyond your ‘furry little problem’, but you know what?  You made it a problem!”

            Remus heard his chair fall backwards as he abruptly stood up and growled.  “Stop it!”  He was distantly aware of the others backing up towards the doorway.

            “You let the curse consume you until that was all you were.  You aren’t human, Remus.  You’re weak and pathetic.  You’re just a Dark Creature pretending to be normal, and failing miserably.”  Sirius’s eyes blazed.

            “Shut up, Shut up, SHUT UP!”  Anger surged through his veins.  He grasped the edge of the oak table and turned it on its side.  He could hear gasps from the direction of the door, but Remus was too full of rage at Sirius to care.

            Sirius looked shocked.

            “You know nothing!  You complain about Azkaban, but you don’t know a thing that I had to go through those twelve years!”

            “You never told me—” Sirius started.

            “ _Listen to me when I’m speaking_.  I never told you because you never wanted to hear it.”  Remus snarled.  “You want to talk about me leaving you to rot?  You want to talk about betrayal?  Fine!”

            Sirius took a step back.

            “At least I let you down because I didn’t have enough faith in myself.  You betrayed me _several_ times because you never had any faith in others.”

            “But—”

            “Yes, Sirius, _you_ betrayed _me_.  I did start thinking I could be normal.  I tried to see beyond my condition when I made friends with you and James.  But then you _betrayed_ my secret to our first enemy.  Not only that, you used me as a tool to try to _kill him_!”

            “You forgave—”  

            “Yes, I forgave you.  But I haven’t forgotten!  I can never forget!  And then, you betrayed my trust when you thought I was the spy.  ‘You’re not a Dark Creature, Remus.  You fight for the Light, Remus.’  And I started to believe it, until you became suspicious of me for that very reason.”

            “Wormtail had told me—”  

            “I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”  Remus heard someone sob in the background.  “And then I got you back, and told you to trust me.  Dumbledore was working on it.  Just a few more months, Sirius, and you would have been free.  I told you not to go to the Ministry that night, because I thought that even though you loved Harry, you loved other people, other things, as well.  I knew that your recklessness would actually _hurt_ Harry in the long run.  And what did you say?”

            Sirius was wilting.

            “You said, ‘Relax, Moony.  It’ll be fine.  I’ll save Harry, the Ministry will _have_ to recognize my innocence, and we can live in peace.’  And I believed you, again.  I thought we had a chance.  Well guess what?  It was not bloody fine!  And we will not live happily ever after!”  

            Sirius was nervously glancing towards the door.

            “You want to know the truth, Sirius?  I may be full of a dark curse, but you aren’t so pure yourself.”  Remus growled.  “You think you’re so different from your family, that you spent your entire life separating yourself from them.  In reality, you were playing the same game as them, just on a different playing field.  ‘Let’s see how many people I can trample, except I’ll make them _trust_ me first.’”  Remus was beyond rage now.  “You fought against every belief your family had just to make them angry, just to be the rebellious one.  You made me think I was dirty, that something I did made everything go so wrong.”  Remus stepped closer to Sirius.  “You ripped people’s hearts out and spat on their spirits as long as it suited you.”

            Remus’s words had ripped away Sirius’s protective layers.  He looked raw and exposed.  A part of Remus howled for the kill.

            “Don’t you see, Sirius?” Remus asked softly.  “No matter how much you fight it, you _are_ a Black.  You are exactly like your mother.”

            Remus was vaguely aware of muffled sobs and gasps from everyone else in the kitchen.  Mostly, though, he was focused on Sirius.  When Sirius’s fist came flying towards him, Remus was ready for it.  He quickly pushed Sirius’s blow to the side with his left arm and punched him square on the jaw with his right.  Sirius staggered back several steps.

            “Bastard!” he mumbled and spit out blood.  “You could’ve broken my jaw!”

            Sirius’s words were slurred, but quickly sank in.  Remus stared at his hands.

            “You could have broken my jaw,” Sirius whispered again in disbelief.  “You can touch me.”


	5. to create

 

There is no genius free from some tincture of madness.

~Seneca  
  


Harry was actually afraid of his former professor.  The Weasleys, plus Harry, Hermione, Tonks, and Lupin, had been sitting down for one final dinner together before Charlie returned to Romania.  Tonks and Charlie were talking quietly, Hermione was whispering something to Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley was organizing a trip to Diagon Alley the next day.  Charlie needed some new clothes before he left, and everyone else wanted to get out of the house.  

            Everything was perfect, until Lupin began talking to himself.  Whatever Lupin was hearing, he obviously didn’t like it.  When he crushed the glass he was holding, everyone stood up.  Lupin was glaring at the empty seat across from him.  When he stood up and started growling, they backed towards the door.

            “Professor Lupin?” Hermione whimpered.  Lupin did not hear her.  They all jumped a foot when he flipped the table over, food and all.  

            “Shut up, Shut up, SHUT UP!” Lupin shouted.  His eyes were blazing with anger.

            They could only watch in horror as he ranted and raved to the Sirius in his mind.  The air was crackling with energy like the warded doors to Sirius’s room.  Dishes sitting in the sink began to rattle and shake.  

            “I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Lupin bellowed.  Mrs. Weasley burst into tears; Tonks was close behind.  Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand to sedate Lupin, but gasped and dropped it.   All of their wands were like fire to touch.  

            Harry’s face completely drained as Lupin raged on about Sirius’s betrayals and the rescue at the Ministry.  Ron looked like he was going to faint.  And then Lupin said the unforgivable.

            “Don’t you see, Sirius?” Remus asked softly.  “No matter how much you fight it, you _are_ a Black.  You are exactly like your mother.”

            Harry wanted to scream.  He wanted to shove Lupin until he woke up from whatever fantasy he was in.  He wanted Lupin to go back to being the friendly former professor they all knew and cared about.  Most of all, however, he wanted Sirius to be there to shut him up for them.

            They watched in terror as Lupin swung at the air in front of them.  Reality must have hit him then, because he stood staring at his hands.  The magical energy that surged through the room slowly abated.  Lupin looked terrible with a torn up hand, hair in disarray, and blood smeared on his cheek.

            “He’s lost it,” Fred broke the silence.  “He’s gone completely mad.”

            Lupin looked at them as if he’d just realized they were there.  “Mad.  Yes.  That’s it!” he said excitedly.  “It can’t be all—but, it has to be why.  I was mad—and that triggered it—I read about it somewhere…”  He rushed to the door.  They all darted out of his way.  “Stupid bloody werewolf.  It was there the entire time…” Lupin muttered all the way upstairs.  His cane lay abandoned on the kitchen floor.

            “Absolutely loony,” Ron added in a whisper.

            “Right then.”  Mr. Weasley picked his wand up.  “Let’s get this place cleaned up.  Molly, could you contact Dumbledore?  I think we need an emergency meeting.”  Harry was glad someone was taking charge.  “Tonks, can you find out where Remus went and try to keep him in there?” 

            Before Tonks could respond, Ginny ran up, her face flushed with exertion.  “He went into his old room.  That room’s warded now, too.  There’s no way in.”  Harry hadn’t even seen her follow Lupin.

            “Well.  I guess he’ll stay put.  Charlie, do you think you could delay your return one more day?”

            “Sure thing.”  Charlie looked resignedly around the kitchen.

            Mrs. Weasley came back into the room.  “Sorry, Harry.  I had to borrow Hedwig.  She’s the fastest, most reliable owl here.”

            They all gathered around the flipped table.

            “So how are we going to do this?”  George asked.

            “Everyone grab a hold and slowly turn it over; I don’t trust using magic quite yet after that outburst.”  Mr. Weasley directed everyone to their places.  Although there were eleven people heaving at it, the table didn’t budge.

            “How did Lupin do this by himself?” Ron panted.  He rubbed his hands where the heavy oak had dug at his skin.

            “His highly agitated state in combination with his—condition—probably produced a surge of adrenaline.”  Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron’s blank stare.  “He’s an angry werewolf.  Do the math yourself.”

            They eventually righted the table with a combination of carefully applied magic and simple manual labor.  Dumbledore must have acted quickly because the first wave of Order members arrived within minutes.  The Headmaster himself arrived after half an hour and sat at the head of the table, a pensive look on his face.  Everyone remained quiet.  No one tried to make Harry, Hermione, Ron, or Ginny leave.  Within an hour of Lupin’s outburst, the kitchen was full of alert wizards and witches. 

            “It appears as if I have miscalculated again,” Dumbledore began.  Everyone present exchanged puzzled looks.  “I have underestimated Mr. Lupin’s grief.”

            “What’s going on, sir?” asked the wizard Harry recognized as Hortkins.

            “I don’t think anyone really knows besides Remus himself.  But I think Arthur Weasley should be able to fill us in.”

            Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and stood up.  “We noticed something was wrong after the full moon.  The potion Remus took didn’t work.  His injuries were extensive.”

            “Nothing was wrong with that potion, as I had told Headmaster Dumbledore previously,” Snape interrupted with a sneer.  “I never brew an imperfect potion.”

            “We’re not saying the potion was bad.  I think Remus was already seeing things at that point, and the potion didn’t take in his state.”  Murmurs started when Mr. Weasley mentioned ‘seeing things’.  “Anyway, shortly after that he began to act a bit jumpy.  Sometimes he would mention Sirius or start to talk to him.  There have been incidences of him having a conversation to an empty room.  Remus sees Sirius, and talks to him.”

            The murmurs erupted into louder whispers.

            “That’s not all!” Mr. Weasley spoke over them.  When there was silence again, he continued.  “This evening, during dinner, Remus started yelling at Sirius.  He flipped over the table, and his magic went out of control—our wands became too hot to hold.  He’s been in his room ever since.”

            “Wonderful!” shouted the goateed wizard that escorted Harry to headquarters.  “We have an insane werewolf on our hands.”

            “He’s not insane!” Ginny retorted.  “He’s just confused.”  Harry felt a surge of gratitude.

            “No, he’s insane.  We should just put him down and get it over with.”  The entire room exploded.  

            “You can’t just ‘put him down’…” Elphias Doge shouted.

            “He’s not an animal!” Hestia Jones said indignantly.

            “…never thought we could rely on him…” a dark haired witch muttered.

            “That’s no way to talk about a fellow Order member…” Emmeline Vance retorted.

            “SILENCE.”  Dumbledore’s presence immediately filled the room.  “Remus Lupin is a valuable member of the Order.  I’ve known him since he was a child; he’s as human as any one of us.  We will have no more talk of ‘putting down’ or ‘animals’.”

            A horrible chuckling noise reached Harry’s ears.  They all looked at Snape.  To everyone’s surprise, he was actually _laughing_.  

            “So the werewolf has finally lost it.”  He chuckled again.  “I always knew he was weak.  The poor fool lost that pitiful Black to his own stupidity and now he has to imagine him back into existence to ease his broken heart—and creating quite a stir in the process.”

            “SHUT UP!” Harry screamed.  “Just because you’ve never lost anyone you’ve loved, or even had anyone to love…”  He stopped abruptly when Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.  Snape glared at him.

            “There will be no more personal attacks on anyone.  We are here to discuss a serious problem.  It is obvious that Remus is in desperate need of professional help.  He has become a danger to himself and those around him, magically as well as physically, as demonstrated by the evening’s events.  I will try to take care of that.”

            “But he’s in his room!” Hermione interrupted.  “It’s warded so much that no one can go get him.”

            “Well, that does present a problem.  Alastor?”

            “Yes, sir,” Moody replied gruffly from the back of the room.

            “Is Remus currently still in his room?”

            “I can’t tell, sir.”  They all gaped at Moody.  His magic eye should have been able to see those rooms easily.  “Black and Lupin’s rooms have been blocked from my vision since headquarters was set up.  I taught them well,” Moody added with an ironic smirk.

            “Hmm.  Quite the dilemma.”  Dumbledore paused to think.  “Alastor, can you stay at headquarters for a few days?  As soon as Remus leaves his room, I want to be notified.  Keep him in your sights.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Now, the real reason we are gathered.”  Dumbledore looked about the room.  “It is a top priority that none of this leaves this house.”  There were a few raised eyebrows.  “I want you all to keep Remus’s health a secret.  It could perhaps ruin everything if it slips that Remus is not entirely himself.”

            “Then why even tell us what’s going on?” Emmeline Vance asked.

            “Simple.  I want you to do some research for me—discreetly, of course.  I have a feeling this is more than a case of a man grieving.  Find everything you can on mind-altering spells, on who might possibly cast one on Mr. Lupin.  Anything that might be relevant.  Inquire with people you know, your sources.  Remember, though, remain discreet.”

            “And what about our other missions?”

            “Continue them, naturally.  We will proceed as if this has never happened.  Only research in your spare time.  Which reminds me—Tonks, I would like to speak with you privately after the meeting.  I will need you to pick up where Remus left off.  It will not do to have him absent for so long.”

            “Is that all, Headmaster?” Snape asked in an attempt of a respectful tone.  “I have a potion that needs my attention.”  He obviously felt no concern for Lupin.  

            “Of course.  You may all leave.”  Dumbledore gazed around the room again.  “Remember, this is of the utmost secrecy.”

            As people started exiting the room, Harry heard Dumbledore mutter to himself, “The effects of this could be disastrous.”

 

~~

 

Remus was so excited, he barely noticed the shocked looks of the Weasleys.  Fred had said he was mad, and it explained almost everything.  He burst into his old room and quickly warded the door.  It wouldn’t do to be interrupted.  Sirius was standing next to him, slightly bewildered and still clutching his jaw.

            “Sorry ‘bout that.” Remus said distractedly.

            “No you’re not.  What’s going on?  Why can you suddenly touch me?”

            Remus was scanning the bookshelves.  “The same reason,” he pulled out some books, “that I began to see you, to hear you.”

            “That explains nothing.”  Sirius placed his hands on Remus’s shoulders, effectively halting him in place.  They both gasped at the pleasant new ability to touch.  “Take a deep breath and start at the beginning.”  

            Remus explained his theory as simply as possible.

            “Are you certain?  Sounds a bit wonky to me.”  Sirius began to pace.

            “I’m nearly a hundred percent certain.”

            “And you agree with me now?  I’m not dead?”

            “Well, you’re not dead, but you’re not quite alive either.”

            “But you just said—”

            “I know.  Which is why you’re not dead.  You’re not quite alive, however, because no one else can see or hear you.”

            “This is hurting my brain.”  Sirius stopped pacing and sat down on the bed.

            Remus continued his search of the library.  When he stopped, there were nearly a dozen books on the floor.  He sat on the floor and created a circle around him with the books.  Each one was opened to a specific section, and then rose into the air.  They began floating at eye level, the pages open towards Remus.  Sirius watched intently from the bed.  Remus placed a blank piece of parchment in front of him, grabbed a quill, and with a flick of his wand rotated the circle of books until the one he wanted was right in front of him.  

            “So what are you doing now?”

            “What I do best, Padfoot.”  Remus grinned at Sirius.  “I’m going to make some magic.”

            Sirius threw back his head and laughed.

 

~~

 

Three days into the Lupin Vigil, as Harry privately called it, and Lupin was still in his room.  Charlie had long since departed for Romania, much to the distress of the Weasleys, Bill left for his own flat, Fred and George returned to their shop in Diagon Alley, Moody was a permanent and wearisome houseguest, and Harry was stuck doing Potions homework.  Hermione had decided that sitting around worrying wasn’t going to help anybody and promptly set up study sessions.  

            A strange semblance of normalcy spread through Grimmauld Place.  The only sign that something was amiss was whenever Mrs. Weasley took food up to Lupin’s room.  Every day she placed a large platter of food in front of the door, and every night it disappeared.  Harry was relieved that Lupin was at least eating.  On the third day, however, Mrs. Weasley’s shouts brought everyone to the second floor.  Mrs. Weasley stood in the hallway, platter still in her hands, and was staring at the door, which was currently ajar.  Moody cursed, and stumped downstairs to contact Dumbledore.

            Mr. Weasley cautiously opened the door, to find an empty bedroom.

            “How did he leave without Alastor noticing?” Mrs. Weasley gasped.

            “I think the real question,” Ron said, “is ‘Where did he go?’”

            “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said from behind them.  Both the headmaster and Professor McGonagall looked flushed from rushing to headquarters.  Without further conversation, Dumbledore entered the room.  Everyone peered in from the doorway.

            Harry couldn’t notice any large change to the room since he’d last been in it, except that there was less dust.  Books were still piled everywhere, although it appeared as if there were more spread about the floor.  A pile of papers was left abandoned in the center of the room.  Dumbledore peered about the room.

            “This is quite worrisome.”  Dumbledore frowned.  “No indication to where he would have gone.”

            “That parchment has an unusually high amount of magical activity, sir,” said Moody from the doorway.  He pointed to the paper at the center of the floor.  Dumbledore picked it up carefully.

            “I cannot understand any of this.”  He frowned further.  “It appears to be the ramblings of a troubled soul.”  He strode out of the room.  “I will have to put out an alert.”

            Everyone followed him towards the kitchen, except for McGonagall, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.  McGonagall picked up the piece of parchment from where Dumbledore had dropped it.  She had a faint smile on her face.  Harry and the others gathered near her.

            “What is it, Professor?” Hermione asked.  It was obvious she was itching to get a hold of the parchment.

            “Runes.  Hundreds of runes, in no particular order.”  She looked at Hermione, but appeared to be gazing beyond her.  “I’ve only seen something like this when Mr. Lupin attended Hogwarts.”

            “Seen what?”

            McGonagall placed the paper on the desk.  Harry could see hundreds of strange symbols moving about on it.

            “When Mr. Black began his third year, it was in absolute silence.  His mother had stripped him of his voice as punishment for something during the summer.  The spell was permanent.”

            “Permanent?” Ginny whispered.

            “His friends adapted as best they could.  They formed their own type of sign language.  Albus and I spent many hours searching for any counter-curse.”  McGonagall sighed.  “It was little Remus Lupin that figured it all out.  He had been in Ancient Runes for little over a month, but was determined to fix his friend.  One Sunday at breakfast, when few teachers were there to stop him, Remus created his own spell.”

            “But that’s far too advanced for a third year!” Hermione said indignantly.  “It takes a knowledge of Runes that exceeds even OWL level.  Not to mention it’s highly dangerous to the wizard creating the spell and the wizard it’s being performed on.”

            “Precisely.  Needless to say, we were all shocked when Remus pointed his wand at his friend, shouted out his very own spell, and gave Sirius back his voice.  Remus spent the next week in the hospital wing.  He had drained almost all of his power.  He nearly died.  Albus decided that was punishment enough.  But Remus remained unapologetic.”  McGonagall stared at the paper.  “When I gathered Remus’s research to make sure there were no surprising after-effects, I found a paper much like this one.  It was all there was to Remus’s blueprints.”

            “So Professor Lupin’s making a spell?” Ginny said in disbelief.

            McGonagall took out her wand and pointed it at the paper.  A slight flick of the wand, and the paper began to glow.  The inky black symbols turned blue and jumped off the paper.  They moved about on the walls, ceiling, and floor.  The room had turned into a strange, blue carousel. 

            “I recognize those runes,” Hermione stated in awe, pointing at the ceiling, “but they’re completely out of place.  Those two do not work in tandem.”

            “After that spell,” McGonagall continued, “it was often that I’d confiscate some paper or another from Remus or his friends that had the same confusing scribbles.  I believe they created many of their own spells for their pranks.”  McGonagall gazed about the room.  With another flick of her wrist, the runes returned to the parchment.  “It’s either the work of a genius—or a madman.”  She turned to leave.  “I’ll have to inform Albus.”

            “I don’t understand,” Harry said once McGonagall had left.  “Wizards make up magic all the time.  Why is this so different?”

            “It’s a matter of intent—sort of.”  Hermione chewed her lip in thought.  “Most wizards, when they’re advanced enough, can improvise when need be.  Usually, however, they draw on existing spells and simply alter them or combine them—like combining a mobilicorpus spell with a flipping charm.”  Harry remembered the scene from Snape’s pensieve.  Hermione looked at the parchment.  “Lupin is creating a spell out of nothing.  It is a new spell, fueled by his _intent_.  It’s like taking magic in its basic form, pure energy, and molding it to fit your needs.”

            Ron whistled.  “I wonder what he’s creating with this mess.”  

            “I guess we’ll find out,” Harry sighed.

            Remus did not return that day, or the day after.  Harry and the others could tell that the Order was nearly in a panic trying to locate him.  Wizards and witches came and went so often that having a meal in peace was out of the question.  Tonks appeared the day of his disappearance with a cut on her forehead. 

            “Tonks!” Molly gasped.  “What happened?”

            “Well, I can’t walk about as Remus if he’s somewhere out there.”  Tonks wiped the blood from her forehead.  “Besides, apparently the people I was supposed to meet could tell I wasn’t him even from several feet away.  I think I inadvertently started the rumor about Remus’s well-being that we were trying to avoid.”  Tonks smiled ruefully.

            Four days after Remus disappeared, an exhausted owl found its way to Grimmauld.  Mrs. Weasley had let it in from her bedroom window, and practically ran in to the kitchen.

            “He’s written to Harry!” she announced.  “Arthur, get Dumbledore.  There may be some clues as to where he’s gone.”

            When Harry heard his name, he grabbed the letter.  “No!”

            “What?”  Mrs. Weasley was taken aback.

            “This is _my_ letter.  No one can look at it except me.”  Harry didn’t know why he was being so possessive, but he had a feeling that the letter was something really personal.

            “Harry, dear, you have to understand!  We need to find out where Remus is so we can get him some help,” Mrs. Weasley pleaded.

            “If there are any clues in the letter, I’ll tell you,” Harry said coldly.  Mrs. Weasley left the room in exasperation.  Mr. Weasley hurried after her.

            Slowly, carefully, Harry broke the seal of the envelope.  Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were staring in anticipation.  As soon as Harry pulled the rather bulky parchment out, a strange hissing noise filled the air.  Dozens of brightly colored butterflies flew out of the envelope.  They circled lazily about the room, often landing on their noses or in their hair.

            “Beautiful!” Ginny laughed.  

            Hermione held her hand out for one to land on.  “They tickle!” she giggled.  

            Even Ron was enjoying them.  Periodically the butterflies would light up with a soft green glow.  Harry picked up a small slip of paper that had fallen out with the butterflies.  What he read made him smile.

            “They’re for you and Hermione,” Harry told Ginny.

            “What?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

            “Lupin says they’re Everflies.  He caught them for you because he thought you might like them.”  The envelope hissed again and two glass bubbles appeared, floating a foot above the table.  The Everflies were pulled into the bubbles, where they continued their lazy circling.

            “Did I get anything?”  Ron peered into the envelope as if he’d find a mountain of gold in it.

            “Not this time.  Lupin says the Everflies were the only thing interesting where he was.  He says to put flowers in the bubbles every now and then, and the Everflies will last a long time.”

            While the others were absorbed in the gift, Harry picked up the letter and went to his room.  He wanted to read it in private.

 


	6. to taste

  
Author's notes:

This section did not fit into chapter 5 without interrupting the flow.  So now it's an Interlude. 

Set before Remus disappears from Grimmauld.

* * *

Remember when I moved in you; / the holy dark was moving too, / and every breath we drew was Hallelujah.

~Rufus Wainwright  
  
  
Remus was pacing again.  He knew it was a pointless action, but he just couldn’t sit still any longer.  They had been in his room for two days, working solely on creating a new spell.  He ate whatever Molly left at the door, and slept whenever Sirius forced him to, but his mind was always on the spell.  Parchment littered the floor and desk, most of it discarded in favor of a new idea.  Exactly five hours and twenty minutes ago, Remus stumbled upon the key to creating his spell.  Six minutes and thirty-five seconds ago, he had written down the last of the runes needed for it.  

            “Remus, please,” Sirius begged.  He was sitting on the bed watching Remus pace from one wall to the other.  “You’ve got it mostly figured out.  You need to rest now.”

            “I told you, I’m double checking the correlations, making sure they are correct.  This is not the time to make a stupid mistake.”

            “I know.  But you won’t be able to spot any mistakes if you don’t take some time to rest your mind.”

            “We will need some items to help focus the spell—perhaps if I include a Circle of Influence…”  He summoned another parchment to him and began jotting down a list.

            Sirius sighed and got up from the bed.  Determinedly he made his way across the room and stopped Remus mid-pace.  He gently took the parchment and quill from him, placed both hands on his shoulders, and proceeded to kiss him.  It was a tender kiss, with just enough lips and tongue to coax Remus into relaxing.  Instead of loosening up, however, Remus tensed.  Sirius withdrew with a puzzled look, and placed some distance between them.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “I can’t—I mean,” Remus stuttered.  He felt himself blushing.  With a deep breath, he tried again.  “You taste like air—like nothing.  It’s confusing.”  

             Sirius was thrown for a moment.  A few seconds later, however, he was staring intently at Remus.  His eyes darkened.  “But _I_ can taste _you_.”

             Remus’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Sirius approach him with a gleam in his eye.  The breath was shakily released a moment later when Sirius unclasped Remus’s robe.  He remained still as Sirius slowly took off his own clothes.  Once he stood naked before him, he started unbuttoning Remus’s shirt.  Sirius followed every inch of exposed skin with kisses and licks.  

            Remus tilted his head back and his breaths became more halted.  As Sirius worked his way from shoulder, to chest, to navel, he sunk lower onto the floor, until he was kneeling in front of Remus, working on unzipping his trousers.  Remus knew he was scarred and skinny; the years had not been kind on him.  However, Sirius kissed as if he were worshiping every flaw and imperfection.  His hands ran down Remus’s sides in reverence, then pushed the trousers to the floor.  When Remus looked down and met his gaze, Sirius’s eyes were flooded with devotion.  Neither dared to move for fear of ending this moment of purest connection.  

            Finally, Remus shakily lay his hand on Sirius’s head.  He gently smoothed Sirius’s hair down, stroked his cheek, and placed his fingertips under his jaw.  Placing the barest amount of pressure on his skin, Remus drew him upwards and into his arms.  He brushed his lips along Sirius’s neck and jaw, placed a whisper of a kiss on his cheeks and nose, and ghosted his lips against Sirius’s.  

            Slowly, the kiss blossomed until it was a battle of tongues.  Remus stepped out of his trousers and backed Sirius towards the bed.  In the past, their love-making could be so tender that it brought tears to Remus’s eyes and left Sirius speechless.  He could tell this wouldn’t be one of those times.  This was pure lust—a need driving them to prove that this was _here_ and this was _now_.  They kissed as they had fought; neither giving ground or pausing to recollect themselves.  

            As Remus pushed Sirius down onto the bed, the first tingling of taste worked its way down his tongue.  It slowly unfurled like the heat building in his stomach, spreading its tendrils and growing in intensity.  Taste and lust battled each other, eventually colliding and combining until every lick was a shock down his spine and every caress became a new and exciting flavor.  Remus worked his way over every inch of Sirius’s body, taking time to taste every nuance of every part.  He became Adam, biting into an apple for the first time and rolling its juices around his tongue.  _If this is damnation, then gladly I will fall_.

            “I’m here, I’m real—I’m _here_ ,” Sirius chanted, soothing Remus’s deepest fears.  Remus responded silently with tongue, and lips, and fingers, calming Sirius’s own doubts.  They moved against each other as thunderclouds rolling towards each other in a purple sky, closer and closer, the very air laden with energy and every lightning touch the shattering of a thousand worlds.  

            Remus pressed another desperate kiss onto Sirius’s lips, feeling him exhale his name as he pulled away.  “You’re here,” he kissed, “you’re real,” he stroked, “ _you’re mine_ ,” he breathed.

            And Remus fell.

            


	7. to comfort

Making the decision to have a child—it’s momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.  ~Elizabeth Stone   


_Harry,  
            __I know you must be really confused about everything right now, and I wish I had answers that I could give you.  You are probably very tired of hearing that.  Know that throughout everything, I have wanted nothing more than to give you those answers.  You have always been at the front of my heart.  You probably doubt this—and you have every right to; I was never very good at displaying how much I care.  I often have to remind myself of the reasons why I was never there for you, why I did not attempt to steal you away from the Dursleys’; but the truth is those reasons are not really reasons at all.  I was—am—weak, plain and simple.  What I ask of you now is to give me a chance to redeem myself.  I’m asking you to believe in me, when I have never believed in myself.  
            __Sirius has always said that I best express my feelings through writing.  He said I was a walking mirror, a reflection of what people wanted to see or what they thought they should see.  When I wrote something down, however, I unleashed the “sap of a poet” I truly was.  So when he expressed his concern that we were not as close as we should be, we agreed that I will try to rectify this through letters.  At the very least, you might gain some insight into where you came from.  
            __I asked Sirius where he thought I should start, and he told me to start at the beginning.  An obvious answer, but not quite as simple.  There are many beginnings in your history, in our history.  So I think I’ll start at the moment I first met you.  
            __Did you know that I was the very first person to hold you in this world?  Not James, and not Sirius—though he wishes more than anything he had been.  You were born two days early—quite an irony in light of the prophecy, but I don’t want to talk about that right now.  The weather wasn’t stormy, or ominous, or overly beautiful.  There was nothing notable about that day except that you decided to come into the world.  Your father and Sirius were off on a mission of sorts, I’m still not certain what exactly they were doing.  James’s famous last words were: “I’ll only be gone for a few days, Lils.  I’ll be back home in plenty of time.”  Ha.  They ended up delayed… for a week.  
            __Anyway, I agreed to stay at the Potters’ in order to keep Lily company.  She was quite the nervous wreck.  One afternoon, she was reading in bed and I was researching something in the library—probably something completely dismal—when Lily shouted for me.  The stubborn woman had been in labor the entire morning, but didn’t realize it and didn’t want to concern me with “a few aches and pains”.  By the time she told me, she was in too much pain to want to leave the bed.  I, being the calm, collected and responsible one of the group, called for Mum.  Seriously.  
            __My mother was a Healer.  She went into semi-retirement after my… accident; she became a midwife for the local families.  Well, she arrived in a split second and took charge of the situation.  I owled Dumbledore, who attempted to contact your father.  I heard it was quite an adventure; you’ll have to ask him about it some time.  Anyway, I stayed in the bedroom to assist my mother.  I followed her around when I was younger, and knew more than many Healers about childbirth.  I had wanted to become a Healer until the consequences of my condition fully hit me.  Someone with my problem could never enter that profession.  
            __I suppose that’s why I ended up in the middle of everything.  My mother realized that it would be the only opportunity I would ever have to fulfill a childhood dream.  So I was the one that ended up welcoming you.  As I cleaned you up and checked you over, you screamed your little heart out.  It was the most wonderful sound I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.  
            __Your mother was absolutely brilliant at charms—I’m pretty sure you’ve heard that.  What you don’t know is that her second love was Herbology.  I never grasped why; she had better grades in other subjects.  She once told me that working with plants, coaxing a seedling to grow, was the ultimate magic.  She may have been a ‘lowly Muggle-born’ in the eyes of certain purebloods, but she had a stronger grasp of what magic was than they could ever hope to have.  When I gave you to her to hold for the first time, I finally understood.  
            __Throughout my experiences as an aide to my mother, I had seen many women give birth.  It always struck me as to how much strength and courage it took.  But looking at Lily, when she looked at you, I finally got it.  All of those women, they all knew that creating life, bringing a person into existence, is the strongest, purest magic there is.  The moment Lily saw you, she was the most beautiful I had ever seen her—despite a long, tedious labor, sweaty skin, and greasy hair.  
            __I think that’s what you really need to understand, Harry.  I’m sure you’ve had moments of despair, when you thought it was all your fault that your parents died. It is not your fault.  What I learned that day is what parenthood really means.  James and Lily made a decision; they decided to create a child and bring it into the world.  From the moment your parents made that decision, everything was changed.  James was no longer the James I knew from Hogwarts.  Lily was no longer Lily.  I’m sure you’ve heard that you were the center of their world.  The truth is, especially in Lily’s case, you **were** their world.  James not so much, I think, because he felt an obligation to protect both you and Lily.  He was not the one to carry you for nine months.  I assume it’s that mother-child bond that no one has ever been able to explain.  You were everything to your mother the moment you were conceived.  I saw it in her eyes the moment she first saw you.  So, you see, James and Lily died that day because not doing so would have been like killing themselves.  And they didn’t really die that day; they are living on through you.  __  
Ah, now see, I’ve completely deviated from the topic and gotten us all choked up.  However, it was something that needed to be said.  I don’t think you receive enough support from the adults in your life.  I need you to remember this, Harry—you are loved.  Sirius and I do care for you.  We care for you so much.  Now I need for you to have faith in me.  I believe, though it is hard to explain, that Sirius is not dead.  Everything I am doing now is all part of bringing him back to life.    
            __I’m afraid I must end my letter now.  Not only am I running out of parchment, but I have a strong suspicion that it is going to rain any moment, and I need to find some shelter.  Share whatever you want with Ron and Hermione.  Tell them everything in this letter, tell them nothing.  Just keep talking to them.  Friends are the most important part of life, but unfortunately too few people realize that until after they are lost.  
_ __  
~-Remus

_P.S.  I’m certain Dumbledore will be dying to know—I’m in Hawaii._

  
~~  
  
It seemed like ages had passed since Harry had sat on his bed and began to read the letter.  Tears had begun to fall halfway through, and now he was outright sobbing.  He did not care that Ron could walk in any moment.  He no longer cared that he was almost sixteen, and certainly too old to cry.  Lupin’s words had, in one swift movement, ripped off the bandage that Harry had spent his entire life developing to protect the deepest parts of himself.  Years of anger and sorrow were now flowing like blood down his cheeks and onto his lap.  _It was not his fault._  He could feel it all unwinding in his stomach; a hard knot of despair that he hadn’t even realized he had been holding inside.  

When the sobs finally died down and the tears had dried up, Harry was too drained to move.  He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.  For the first time in many months, Harry’s mind was completely blank.  If Voldemort himself burst through the door with a dozen Death Eaters, Harry felt he could take them.  However, he also felt that even the slightest breeze might carry him off.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see those words from an adult—from someone who understood, and actually, truly believed them.  And if Lupin said that his parents’ death was not his fault, then Sirius’s death couldn’t be either.  They had all died protecting him because they loved him.  Armed with this new knowledge, Harry felt ready to take on the world.  Or, at least, Mrs. Weasley.  

He arrived in the kitchen just as the others were cleaning up from lunch.  They all paused when he walked into the room, but he said nothing.  Harry belatedly realized that he must look a mess, with puffy, red eyes and rumpled hair.  After a moment’s thought, he decided he could care less and stole a sandwich.  On his way out the door, he paused by Mrs. Weasley.  “He’s in Hawaii.”  As quickly as he entered, Harry left.  

It became a routine for the next few weeks.  Every other day, usually around breakfast, another letter would arrive for Harry from Lupin.  He wrote about Harry’s parents and how they adored him.  Several times he also included an episode from the Marauders’ school days.  Harry would share with Ron and Hermione those stories, but kept the ones about his parents to himself.  Every letter would contain some bit of advice or piece of encouragement about Voldemort, the prophecy, mortality, school, or (in one rather embarrassing letter) girls.  

Occasionally Harry would build enough courage to snag whatever bird Lupin was using at the moment and send a letter in response.  He asked about some of the most random things, like what Quidditch team his father supported.  It was in this way that Harry became acquainted with his parents and their friends.  James and Lily Potter were fleshed out and animated with cherry-flavored lipstick, cheap detective novels, tiramisu, and Christmas trees.  He even found out about Lupin’s predilection for big band music, fresh December snow, and Shiny-things-that-exist-solely-for-Annoying-Sirius-Black.  Remus also had a rather wicked sense of humor.

Every time, Lupin would send some gift to Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny—or some combination of the four—that completely amazed them.  They were usually small things that he had found during his travels.  One time Ron got a fang hanging from a gold chain.  Lupin directed Ron to a book in his old room with a section on the creature that the fang came from.  Hermione was shocked to see Ron entirely absorbed in a book for a whole day.  After he read about Twidgets and their magical teeth, Ron decided to read about another Dark Creature.  Soon, it was hard to find Ron without the fang hanging from his neck and the book by Professors Knight and Dae clutched in one hand.  

Remus often gave hints (or outright stated) where he was currently located.  It frustrated Dumbledore to no end that by the time an Order member arrived there, Lupin had long since departed.  Hermione put a map of the world over the Black family tapestry and placed a pin over every place Lupin had been.  “It’s a perfect opportunity to brush up on our geography,” she had said when Ron asked about it.  Sometimes the letters and gifts would appear on the kitchen table before breakfast.  It irritated Dumbledore that Remus could slip in and out of Grimmauld without alerting anyone to his presence.

They tracked him from Hawaii to France, Nepal to Egypt, Sweden to Italy.  Often they would discuss his movements during dinner, much to Mrs. Weasley’s displeasure.  Harry was delighted that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny shared his belief that there was more to Remus’s breakdown than insanity.  In his letters, Lupin appeared entirely normal.  The only thing that was out of place was his frequent mentions of Sirius.  

“He must have a purpose for all of this,” Ginny said one afternoon a week before his birthday.  “I don’t see how he would just abandon the Order if it wasn’t for a good reason.”

Hermione looked up from the map.  “He must be looking for something.  Or somethings.”

“Like what?” Ron asked from the couch.

“I don’t know.  Maybe something to prove that he isn’t crazy.”

Harry moved to look out the window.  “What if… what if he is seeing Sirius for a reason?  What if Sirius isn’t really dead?”  He hadn’t told them what Remus had written during that first letter.  He sometimes wondered whether or not he believed it himself.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed.  “We know you loved Sirius, and Sirius loved you.  But he’s dead, Harry.  You have to let go.”

Harry turned around to face them all.  “I know he’s not alive,” he said stubbornly.  “But what if he’s _not dead_?”

No one answered him.  After that afternoon, Harry would frequently find one of them staring at the map, deep in thought.

  
~~

  
Remus folded the list up and placed it back into his rucksack.  There were only two more items left for the spell, but they were the most difficult to obtain.  With a sigh, he propped himself against a tree and gazed at the fire.  He felt old—far older than he should.  The last three weeks were enjoyable; he got to see some old friends as well as travel the world with the man he loved.  However, the aching in his leg was increasing each day he was wandering.  It had been a full moon night two days ago, and he was still feeling twinges in his muscles.  He tried not to jump as Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder.  Remus hadn’t even seen him approach. 

            “Still sore, Moony?”  Before Remus could respond, Sirius had negotiated himself behind him.  Sirius was warmer and more comfortable than the tree, so he had no complaints.  With practiced ease, Sirius began to massage the werewolf’s shoulders.

            “We’re almost done.”  He leant further into Sirius’s hands.

            “That’s a relief.  As much as I like the traveling, I’d like to inflict my presence on others.”

            Remus chuckled.  “Tired of me already, Padfoot?”

            “Never,” Sirius said soberly.  “I’ll never be tired of you.”

            Remus couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat, so he settled with placing his hand over Sirius’s.  The only sound for a while was the crackling of the fire.  He wished that they could spend the night in a hotel, but it was too dangerous with the Order still searching for him.  

            “I was wondering…” Sirius’s voice was unnaturally hesitant.  

            “Hmm?”  Remus closed his eyes.

            “I was wondering if you meant all those things you said, back at Grimmauld.  About betrayal.”

            “Did you mean everything _you_ said?”  Sirius was suddenly very silent and still.  Remus squeezed his hand in apology.  “I think to some extent I did.”

            Sirius made to withdraw his hands, but Remus tightened his grip on the one he was holding.

            “I was angry at you Sirius.  And hurt.  Of course I said things that I did not actually mean.”  Remus sighed softly.  “However, some of it was based on truth.  You are a Black, Sirius, no matter how much you try to deny it.  But you have taken everything you’ve inherited and made it into something good, something positive.  The arrogance, the attitude, the stubbornness… you’ve made it into a passion for life and a loyalty to the ones you love.  You do have your faults and you have made some mistakes, but they are part of why I love you.”

            He turned around in Sirius’s embrace and cupped Sirius’s face, pressing their foreheads together.

            “You are the only person that can make me that angry.  You are also the only person that I could ever love beyond reason.  Do you see?”  He put a hand over Sirius’s heart and placed one of Sirius’s hands over his own.  “We _work_.  You and I see everything about each other.  We know the worst parts of us and the best parts.  I have seen your faults, Sirius, but they could never make me love you less.”

            Sirius’s sigh was nearly a sob.  “You’re not a monster, Remus.  I’ve never believed that.  You are the most human of us all…”

            “…I just need to open up more.  I know.”  He bumped his nose with Sirius’s.  “And you’re not heartless.”

            “I just need to work on thinking before acting.”  Sirius’s smile was weak, but genuine.  “Do you think that’s why we stopped trusting each other… before?”

            “Perhaps.”  

            “Things will get better.”  His voice was more confident than the look in his eyes.

            “Yes, they will.  This past year wasn’t the best, but I think we know what went wrong there.”

            “I don’t care what else happens anymore, as long as we’re a family.  I can be locked up forever.  I just need you and Harry.”

            “Don’t say that,” Remus said sternly.  He eased the tone with a kiss.  “We will be a family, but I refuse to leave you in that house.”  He wearily turned around again, and Sirius continued his massage.  

            Due to his unusual state of existence, Sirius did not get tired or hungry.  They had decided early on that he would stand watch all night while Remus slept.  That night, Remus felt completely safe as he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the protective arms of the one he loved.  


	8. to hope

  
Author's notes: This Chapter is my favorite!  Remus gets an ally and a back-story, Harry gets ‘the talk’ (of sorts), Bill gets a cameo, and the Title of this Piece gets explained.  


* * *

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul, 

And sings the tune without the words, 

And never stops at all, 

 

And sweetest in the gale is heard; 

And sore must be the storm 

That could abash the little bird 

That kept so many warm. 

 

I've heard it in the chilliest land, 

And on the strangest sea; 

Yet, never, in extremity, 

It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson

 

 

Lycus Whitmer was vacationing outside a small German village in an unobtrusive cottage.  It took Remus and Sirius hiking most of the day to reach it, so it was mid-afternoon when Lupin finally knocked on the door.  The girl that answered was no more than twenty with large eyes and lank brown hair.  Half of her face was covered in knotted scars. 

            “Pardon me, miss,” Remus said politely.  “I was looking for Lycus Whitmer?”

            “Who’s there, Daphne?” a coarse voice called from inside the house.

            “Remus Lupin,” Remus provided.  At this, Daphne’s eyes got wide and she opened the door further, gesturing him inside.

            Remus glanced briefly around the room when he entered.  It was small, but homey.  Parchments filled most of the flat surfaces.  An incredibly thin old man sat in an armchair by the fire, his feet soaking in a large tub of hot water.  Daphne indicated that he should sit across from the man, then left towards the kitchen.  Sirius made himself comfortable on the floor near the window.

            “Well, well,” Lycus croaked.  His voice was surprisingly deep for such a small person.  He looked in ill health, with sunken cheeks and sallow skin.  Remus thought he’d break at the slightest touch.  “We were wondering when you’d get around to calling on me.”

            “So you probably already know what I’ve come to ask you?”  Remus nodded his thanks to Daphne, who had brought in a tray of tea.  She poured Lycus some tea, followed by a generous amount of whiskey.  

            “I know what you want to ask me, and I also think I know what you want to get from me.”  He chuckled at Remus’s raised eyebrows.  “Word spreads fast among the outcasts, young cub.  Don’t worry.  Those that you don’t want knowing about you haven’t heard a thing.  That includes Greyback and his ilk.”  Lycus took a sip of his tea.  “What everyone wants to know, however, is what on earth you are planning to do with these things?  The most we can figure is something not quite legal.”

            “There are various reasons for me not to tell you the specifics, including the safety of those involved.”

            “Fair enough.  But the Blade of Raoulan?  That is asking for a bit much with no explanation.”  Lycus grunted and shifted in his chair.  Daphne obediently added more water to the tub.  “Raoulan was the closest us werewolves have to a Merlin.  It is said that he killed himself upon that very blade.”

            “And for the very reason that I need it now,” Remus interrupted.  Surprise etched itself on Lycus’s face.  “Love.  He sacrificed himself to save the one he loved.”  Sirius looked towards him, alarmed.  “I don’t aim to die, but I intend to do the saving.”

            “Not many know the stories of old.  This person you love—not a werewolf, is she?” Lycus asked shrewdly.

            “No, he’s not.”  Remus tensed, prepared for disgust, but Lycus merely raised an eyebrow.

            “Then why should I help you?”  

            “Because some wizards, contrary to popular belief, are worth saving.”

            “Ah, and now we get to the question you wish to ask me.”  Lycus gestured to Daphne to leave the room.  He turned his entire gaze on Remus, but Remus did not flinch.  “You, young cub, confound us.  The packs don’t understand you.  You are a born alpha, anyone can see it.  You are also the only one bitten at such a young age to survive so long.  A few of the younger ones believe you were bitten at birth.  And yet, you follow that Dumbledore fellow; you run errands for him, you recruit for him, you are his lapdog, you try to fit in with the wizards.  I don’t understand what he has that’s so great.”

            Remus opened his mouth to argue, but stopped at a look from Lycus.

            “I am old, Remus.”

            “You are the oldest living werewolf.  You have the respect of all the packs.”

            “I won’t last much longer.”  Lycus gazed out the window.  “The full moons have begun to run together.  I do not heal completely from one before the next is upon me.  I am tired.”  He turned back to Remus.  “I want to spend my remaining days writing our history.  It is important to me that the true history is told to future generations, not that propaganda the Ministry serves.  They should know that the Great Battle of Hanover was not a bloodthirsty werewolf rebellion, but a fight to save our own.”

            “A very noble cause, sir.”

            “Daphne and I have left our pack for a few months peace and quiet.  Do you know why she is here?  How she got the scars on her face?  She refused the advances of some wizard,” he spat.  “He thought he had a right to take advantage of her.  After all, she wasn’t a _real_ human.  She still hasn’t told me everything that happened.”

            “That’s terrible.”  Remus found himself staring at the door Daphne had exited.

            “I have lived through more than you could ever imagine.  I saw the Purge of 1915.  I was there for the Great Round-up in ’40.  I have survived Camp Silvan.  I was the only one to leave the Saturn Rehabilitation Center alive in ’52 after four months of hell during the Reforms.”  Lycus pulled at the collar of his robe to expose a tattoo of numbers on his collarbone.  “I have seen terrible things from the wizarding world.  So tell me, Remus Lupin, why should I fight for wizards?  Why should I help you gather support among the packs?”  

            The air became heavy with tension.  Remus was looking into the fire, but could feel the stares from Lycus and Sirius.  Slowly, he pushed back the sleeve on his right arm.  As he spoke, he waved his wand over his forearm.  “Because I, too, have seen the worst wizards have to offer.”  Under the disillusionment charm was a tattoo of the numbers 4651259 followed by a small crescent moon.  He ignored the gasp from Sirius.

            Lycus leant forward and gently touched the numbers.  “When?” he croaked.  “I thought I had seen all the records...”

            “November 1, 1981.”  Remus’s cheeks were burning.  “Someone... dear to me had been arrested for being a Death Eater—he was innocent, of course.  They assumed... it was all circumstantial...”  He coughed.  “They thought I knew things, important information.  You asked me why I follow Dumbledore so willingly.  The truth is that my connection to him was the only thing that saved me.  However, by the time he was able to secure my release and erase the charges on my record, it had been two years.  It is also the only reason I am able to Disillusion the tattoo.”

            Lycus sank back into his chair.  He appeared to be completely readjusting his view of Lupin.  Remus purposely avoided looking in Sirius’s direction.  “I did not know.  I am truly sorry.  No one I know of has lasted longer than a year at the Saturn Center.  I... _gods_ , you must have been...”

            “Near death.”  He rolled down his sleeve and leaned forward.  “I follow Dumbledore because I _believe_.  I have seen the worst of humanity, but I have also seen the best.  Love, joy, happiness, _compassion._   I have found my closest friends among wizards.  I have found my truest love in a wizard.  For a year, I taught some of the best and brightest.  Many among them dare to see a future free of prejudice and hate.  I have hope for that future.  This war—it is more than a fight against Voldemort and some dark wizards.  It is a fight to reclaim that future, for everyone.”

            Remus could not think of what else to say that could possibly convey his conviction.  He glanced about the room, spotting the many scrolls of history that Lycus had written.  

            “Do you ever wonder how you will be remembered?  How history will view you?”

            Lycus shrugged.  “I always thought I’d be remembered simply as the oldest surviving werewolf.  The only one who might remember me as more than a werewolf is my brother, and I’m not even certain if he lives.  He did not speak to me much after the bite.”

            “Well this is your chance to make history, to be a part of it.  Together, we can change how the world views us.  Even if it takes generations, the change will start now, with us.  We can be accepted again.  We can be respected, like Raoulan and his court was.  However, now is the time to take action.”

            Lycus remained silent.  He was staring at Remus like he’d never seen anything like him before.  At some point, Sirius had changed into Padfoot and was resting his muzzle on Remus’s armrest.  

            “You are not just a lapdog for a bumbling old man, are you Remus Lupin?  Daphne!” Lycus suddenly shouted.  Padfoot jumped.  “Daphne, come here, girl.”  The old man shoved himself out of his chair and stepped out of the basin.  Before Remus could react, he had kneeled shaking at Remus’s feet.  Daphne had rushed into the room and was staring at him.

            “Old one, no!  Please, sit back down.”  Remus tried to pull the thin man up.

            “No.  I want to do this traditionally.  It has to be done right.”  Lycus placed one of Remus’s hands on his balding head and tilted his head back to expose his throat more.  “I understand now.  You do not want to become leader by force or strength like Greyback.  You wish to truly lead us, even if it means following a wizard.  I have been waiting for someone who believes as strongly as you do.”  

            “Grandfather, please!  You’re straining yourself!”  Daphne finally found her voice.

            “Hush, child.”  Lycus looked Remus directly in the eye.  “I swear to follow you to the pits of hell if need be.  I believe that you will lead us into greatness.”  Unsteadily he got back to his feet.  “Daphne, start packing our things.  We have some people to visit.”

            Remus sagged with relief.  “You will not regret this, sir.”

            “Lycus, please.”  He winked.  “I feel almost half my age.”

            Padfoot and Remus left the two werewolves to do their packing.  On the path leading to their campsite, Sirius finally transformed back.  They walked for several minutes in silence, though Remus felt Sirius’s scrutinizing gaze.  

            “You didn’t get the knife.”  

            “I know.”  Remus kicked a stone on the path.  “But I gained a valuable ally for the Order.  Lycus Whitmer is well respected among the werewolves.  He will spread the word, and many will listen.  He will be my voice in the packs, in places where I would have trouble visiting.  I had planned on calling on him eventually.  The knife was just a convenient excuse.  I can find a way to work the spell around it.” 

            Sirius stared sullenly ahead.  Before he could talk again, they were hailed from behind.  Daphne, slightly out of breath from running, caught up to them.  She thrust a hastily wrapped object at Remus.  

            “He said—he said,” she panted, “that if you are as passionate about the one you love as you are about the war, then it will be put to good use.”

            Peering into the wrapping, Remus saw an old knife with strange symbols etched along its blade.  “I do not know how to repay him¼  Send him my thanks.”  He turned to continue walking, but Daphne’s voice stopped him again.

            “I—I don’t mean to pry—but, you said he was a wizard.  The one you’re trying to save.  The one that—loves you.”  She could not meet his eyes and fiddled with her fingers.

            “Yes, he is.”

            “And you’re magic, too?  It’s just—I was wondering—I was bitten just before I could get my letter, and—”  She blushed.

            “Yes.  I was fortunate to be trained at Hogwarts.”  He imagined her without the scars, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.  There was a humble beauty that many would find attractive.  Gently he placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face up.  He ignored her flinch.  “Daphne, whatever he did to you was wrong and inexcusable.  Magic should be for healing and protecting.”

            “I want to learn that magic... I want to meet wizards that see werewolves as people that can be loved.”  The longing in her voice was practically tangible.  

            “In a few months, if everything works out and my spell doesn’t backfire, I will find you.  There are some people I would like you to meet.”

            “Thank you,” she breathed.  In an echo of Lycus’s earlier actions, Daphne placed Remus’s hand on her head.  “Thank you.”  She abruptly turned and ran back towards the cottage. 

            Once she was out of sight, Remus started walking again.  Sirius kept glancing at him.  “Later, Padfoot.”

            The campsite was quiet that night.  Remus had packed up what few belongings he had in preparation for their next journey.  They would be headed into the mountains of Switzerland for the final ingredient, powdered graphorn horns.  Although they were available in stores, Remus wanted it fresh, preferably from a female.  He had found an Epiphany flower earlier that he thought Hermione might be interested in, and decided to drop it off at Grimmauld with the Blade of Raoulan before they tried for the graphorn.  Sirius watched him pack with interest.

            “Why do you bother getting things for them?  I mean, I like them and all, but you could sell some of this stuff for a good bit of money.”

            “If money were the most important thing in this world, Padfoot, I would have failed at life long ago.”  He closed his rucksack.  “Besides, I remember what summer holidays are like.  I think it’s a good thing to keep them stimulated during the long break, maybe even get them interested in new things.  And, perhaps, having people on good terms with me right now is a good thing.”

            Sirius was sitting a few feet from Remus, staring into the fire.  “Why didn’t you tell me about the Center?”  His voice was forcibly neutral.

            “I told you why before.  You didn’t want to hear it.”  Remus sighed.  “You were trying to recover from all those years in Azkaban.  You didn’t _need_ to hear it.”

            “I want to know now.  Please.”  Sirius stood up and walked over to where he was sitting.  He sat facing Remus and placed a hand on his knee.  “We can’t have any secrets anymore.  Remember what happened last time?”

            “I’ll tell you on one condition.”  He looked stubbornly at his lap.  “You are not to blame yourself, for any of it.”       

            Sirius hesitated.  “I’ll try.”

            Remus did not start talking for a few moments.  He listened to the crackling of the fire and Sirius’s steady breathing.  Closing his eyes, he felt the warming presence of the animagus and reminded himself that he wasn’t _there_ anymore; he was with Sirius in Germany.  He had Harry, and the Order.  “It was like I told Lycus.  It happened on the first of November.  I was on an assignment, remember?  I remember hearing all the celebrations, and a rumor that Voldemort was dead, killed by Harry Potter.  I thought that it was impossible—James and Lily were in hiding, he couldn’t have found them.  Somehow I found my way back to the flat.  James and Lily—I found out that they were dead from the _Daily Prophet_.  All of the celebration and no one thought to inform me.”

            “Didn’t Dumbledore or someone from the Order come to comfort you?”

            Remus smiled ruefully.  “Dumbledore was concerned about getting Harry to a safe location.  Everyone else—well, I don’t know what they were doing.  I didn’t go to sleep.  I couldn’t.  And you weren’t there.  I just lay in bed, praying that you would come back any second and tell me it was a big cover-up, that James and Lily were still alive.  I don’t know how long I stayed like that.  At some point, _they_ came.  I think they broke down the door.

            They were shouting, but I couldn’t understand any of it.  I was so confused and tired and distressed, and _you weren’t there..._ I think they mentioned something about you, which confused me even more.  The next thing I remember is being in an interrogation room at the Center.  That’s where I learned what happened—between you and Peter.  I was so shocked, I just wanted to crawl into a corner and weep.  But they didn’t let me.  They kept asking all these questions that I didn’t have the answer to.  They thought that since I was a Dark Creature, I had some hand in what you did.

            When they weren’t answered satisfactorily, they were angry.  They had taken my wand earlier, but then they took my robes, they even shaved my head.  They poked and prodded, trying to find out my secrets.  I remember potions—and someone had a knife.  I don’t know how long that lasted, but they put me in a cell.  For several days it was a cycle of solitary confinement and torture.  

            My memory is blurred at that point.  I remember some of the interrogation sessions, and some of the other prisoners.  They called it a Rehabilitation Center—I’d love to know what they were curing us of.  After a while, even they forgot why I was in there.  They stopped asking questions.  But they kept experimenting—they kept using potions and whips and beaters... and the spells— _Merlin_ the _spells_ —there should be more than three Unforgivables.  I remember just wanting to _wake up_.  

            Dumbledore told me later that he found me in my cell curled up and nearly dead.  He took me out of there—but had to put me in St. Mungo’s for treatment.  It took another year to fully recover.  Dumbledore said it was mostly a broken mind they were trying to fix.  Perhaps that is why he thinks I’m crazy now—perhaps I had a relapse.  

            When I was well enough, I asked about Harry.  I wanted to see him.  But Dumbledore told me that in my condition, it was probably better for everyone if I stayed away.  That is one of my few regrets.  I should have fought harder to see him.  Instead, I accepted what Dumbledore said as truth.  When I asked about you, he told me what they had as evidence against you.  That is another regret I have—I did not question any of it.  I spent the next few years traveling, trying to forget what happened, instead of finding out what actually occurred.”  

            Remus turned his head away from the fire, his eyes watering from more than the bright flames.  He could no longer speak over the lump in his throat, and he was highly aware of his shaky breaths.  _I will not cry_ , he thought.  _Padfoot was in Azkaban; he’s been through worse._

            All of Remus’s self control broke when Sirius gently took his arm and placed a kiss where the tattoo was carved into his skin.  “It’s okay, love.  Let it all out.”

            Remus found himself quietly crying in Sirius’s arms.  

            Once he had calmed enough to hear, Sirius began to speak.  “You tell me not to blame myself for this.  You told Harry that he was not at fault for James and Lily.”  He drew his fingers through Remus’s hair, a calming effect he had used since Hogwarts.  “However, you can’t find it in yourself to see that it’s not your fault either.  What a group we make.”

            Remus gave a wet chuckle.  

            “It drives me insane sometimes how you can give comfort but refuse to receive any.  That girl—Daphne—she experienced something awful and horrifying.  And yet, you are able to offer her so much hope and peace with just a few words.”

            “She should not have had to go through that.”

            “And you should not have had to go through your ordeal.  You need to know that, Moony.”  Sirius chuckled slightly.  “I feel a bit hypocritical, but you were a victim.  You should not blame yourself for anything—not the Dursleys and not Azkaban.”

            “But I could have been stronger.  So much could have been avoided if I had just asked more questions.”

            “And everything would be different if I had just told someone about Wormtail.”  Sirius pulled Remus even closer.  “I promise to try to let it go, if you do the same.”  He rubbed Remus’s arms.  “Just let it go.”

 

~~

 

Three days before Harry’s birthday found him lounging in a library with Ron and Ginny watching Hermione research more on creating new spells.  Fred and George were visiting Grimmauld for the day to “investigate and explore the possible uses of Jumpepper beans” and were currently hovering over a very large and very dusty book in the corner of the room.  It all sounded rather ominous to Harry, who knew when his not-so-voluntary services as a tester would soon be needed.  He was interrupted from a nice doze when Tonks unexpectedly burst into the room, followed shortly by Bill.  

            “I don’t think it’s all coincidental,” she argued.  Bill merely raised an eyebrow.  “It doesn’t make sense for Remus to—to fall ill—just as he’s about to make a move on Greyback.”  She stormed to a nearby table and grabbed the book sitting there.

            “You really think there’s some curse behind this?”  Bill sat down next to Hermione. 

            “Yes,” she snapped and held the book aloft.  “And I’m going to find out what.  Besides, Charlie wrote that there’s been sudden activity in central Europe.”

            Fred and George’s heads popped up.  “You’ve been writing to Charlie, then?” Fred asked.

            “Seems to me our ikkle Nymphie-dora has a crush...” George continued.

            “On our dear big brother.”

            “Who’d’ve thought?”

            “Look, she’s blushing!”  Ron laughed.  Even Ginny was giggling.  

            “Charlie just wanted to thank me for the gloves I sent,” Tonks stammered.  “He mentioned he had burned his last pair...”

            “So what do you say, Tonks?”  Fred and George gathered around Tonks.  “Give us all the sordid...”

            “Scandalous...”

            “Shocking details?” 

            Hermione shut her book with more force than necessary.  “I think you should leave her alone!  It’s not polite to make fun of people’s crushes.”

            “Well then!  Does the lovely Hermione have her own special someone?”  Fred laughed as Ron’s ears went a bright shade of red.

            “I will not dignify that with an answer,” Hermione huffed.  Her cheeks were rather rosy, however.  “Would you like to join me for some tea, Tonks?  Like _civilized_ people?”

            “Certainly,” Tonks replied with relief.  As she and Hermione left the room, however, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny followed close behind.

            “Oh, come on, Hermione!  Do tell?”  Fred’s queries faded into the distance.  Harry was too pleasantly sleepy to follow them downstairs, so he remained laying on the couch.  Bill was the only other person left in the room.  A comfortable silence fell.  It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to talk to him, it was just that he didn’t know what to talk about.

            “You alright, Harry?” Bill asked.  He was flipping through one of Hermione’s discarded books.

            “Mmhmm,” Harry mumbled.  “I don’t much feel like tea at the moment.”  

            “Suit yourself.”  

            He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it, but suddenly Harry found himself blurting, “Does falling in love always make you so—I dunno—awkward?”

            “Are you talking about Tonks and Charlie?”

            “Yes... and I rather suspect Ron fancies Hermione.”  It felt good to talk to someone about his suspicions concerning his friends. 

            “Ah, yes.  The blushing, fumbling stage.  I used to be the same way.”

            Harry raised and eyebrow.  It was hard to imagine cool, collected Bill flustered about anything.  

            “Really.  Some of us are able to grow out of it and move on to pure mortification and uncontrollable rambling.”  Bill smiled.  “Do you have someone you fancy?” he asked, more gentle than Fred and George’s earlier inquisition.

            “Maybe.”  Harry thought of Cho and the squirming he got in his stomach when he saw her.  Then he remembered her crying constantly.  _Time to move on, perhaps,_ he thought.

            “So who’s the lucky gal?  Or is it a guy?”

            Harry abruptly sat up.  A book that had been balancing unevenly on the top of the couch was jostled and fell onto his head.  “Guy?” he spluttered.  

            “Oh, come on, Harry.”  Bill sighed.  “I know that some of the older wizards and witches are a bit more conservative in mentioning such things, but you’ve certainly heard it before...”  Harry mutely shook his head.  Bill sighed again.  “You haven’t.”

            “I didn’t—Uncle Vernon said something once, completely nasty of course—and I don’t think...”  He paused for a breath.  “Is it a bad thing?  In the wizarding world?”

            “Harry,” Bill chuckled.  “If the wizarding world can deal with a man and a giantess—granted, with a bit of disdain—and see nothing out of the ordinary with marrying a second cousin, homosexuality doesn’t really raise the alarm.” 

            “But you just said it wasn’t mentioned.”

            “Yes, I did.  For a long time it was something under the ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ philosophy.  We’ve tried for centuries to keep our existence from Muggles, to blend in.  And, up until recently, homosexuality was looked down upon in their society.  So we kept it secret.  Due to this tradition, some older couples still don’t even let their acquaintances know about them, and many witches and wizards don’t look too closely for it.”

            “And now?”

            “Now—well, let’s just say that it’s almost a desire, the ability to stand out in some way.  To be perfectly normal is to be abnormal.”

            “Oh.”  Harry lay back down, this time mulling over everything Bill had said.  Bill continued to skim through books, apparently content just to browse through the library.  It wasn’t long before Harry decided that Bill was just the person to ask a question he’d been holding in for weeks.  “Do you think—do you think that if a person...is really close to someone, and then loses that person—do you think that they will ever get over it?”

            Bill walked over to the couch and perched on the armrest by Harry’s feet.  “Are you talking about losing Sirius?” he asked gently.

             “Yes—he...” Harry stuttered.  “I really cared for him, you know?  And I was sad when he—died, but I was mostly just angry.  Angry that he left.”

            “And now?”

            “I’ve kinda stopped being angry.  Mostly I’m just sad now.  And I think—I think that it won’t ever stop hurting, but I’m slowly starting to stop being sad, too.  Is that bad?”

            “Usually it doesn’t stop hurting.  You’ll always miss him.”  Bill paused.  “And you stop being sad because you find hope, however small.  You hope that they are at peace, and that wherever they are, they are waiting for you.  You have hope that you’ll see them again someday.”

            “But what about Remus?” 

            “What about him?”

            “Do you think he’s lost it?  Do you think he’s so full of grief that he’s gone insane?”  Harry waited anxiously for the answer.  

            Bill took a moment to think.  “I don’t know Lupin that well.  We’ve only talked about Order things before.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, but I don’t think that he was driven to it solely by grief.  Harry,” Bill continued, “no one can compare one man’s grief to another’s.  We all love differently, we all grieve differently.  Remus Lupin loved Sirius in his own way.  You should never feel less about yourself because you got angry over Sirius’s death or because you haven’t lost touch with reality.  You need to find your own peace, and let Lupin find his.”

            Harry could not respond to that, so he merely nodded.  Bill stood up and ruffled his hair.  Without another word, he exited the library and left Harry to his thoughts.  For several hours, Harry tried to figure out exactly what he felt concerning Sirius’s death and Remus’s apparent insanity.  

            Hours turned into days until Harry woke up one morning to the realization that he was sixteen.  To be more accurate, Harry woke up to Ron telling him, “Happy Birthday!” repeatedly, and at the top of his lungs.  Grimmauld Place was a flurry of activity as Mrs. Weasley directed most likely the largest birthday party he had ever had.  Harry thought that perhaps she was trying to distract him from recent events.  Unfortunately, even with the merriment surrounding him, Harry could not help but wish that Sirius and Remus were there to help him celebrate.  

            Mrs. Weasley had taken the time to decorate both the kitchen and the first floor drawing room.  She explained that one room was for the feast, and the other for opening the presents.  Harry chose not to mention that he would not have that many presents to open to begin with.  However, true to Mrs. Weasley’s words, there was a marvelous feast.  Besides Hermione and the Weasley’s (including Bill and the twins), the party contained Mad-Eye, Tonks, Kingsley, Mundungus Fletcher, and—surprisingly—Professor McGonagall.  She claimed to be stopping by purely for Order business, but Harry did not miss seeing her slip a bag of candy onto the pile of presents before she left.  

            The food was perhaps the best Harry had ever had outside of Hogwarts.  Somehow Mrs. Weasley knew all of his favorite meals, and decided to cook them all at once.  From breakfast to early afternoon, they ate and talked cheerfully at the heavily laden table.  They were all about to head to the drawing room, when the fireplace burst into green flames and Remus Lupin tumbled into the kitchen.

 

~~

 

Remus knew he was in dire straights when the kitchen at Grimmauld swayed dangerously in his vision.  He saw the piles of food, and all of the people, before he collapsed on the floor.  People were rushing all around him, shouting out instructions and trying to move him.  Someone was wiping at his right arm with a towel.  _What’s wrong with my arm?_ he thought.  A quick glance showed a rather nasty gash running down its length, and a disturbing amount of blood dripping from it.  _Oh yes, I remember._

            Finding the female graphorn that fit his qualifications was easy.  Getting a bit of her horn was not.

            He tried to push himself up from the floor— _When did I get there?_ —and towards the doorway.  Harry was suddenly in front of him, trying to get him into one of the kitchen chairs.

            “’Ello, Harry.  Happy Birdday.”  Remus frowned at his tongue.  It was far too heavy and slurred his speech. 

            He found himself looking into the eyes of Professor Dumbledore, who waved his wand at his arm.  The pain that Remus had not noticed before started to recede.  

            “Let’s get him to St. Mungo’s.  Come on, Remus.  We have to go now.”

_Go?  But I just got here..._ “NO!  I have—I have to go upstairs—upstairs.”  He held out the vial of powdered graphorn.  _Can’t they see?_   “The spell—upstairs!”  Kingsley grabbed him as he tried to run for the doorway.  The vial dropped to the floor with a loud clunk.  Harry bent to retrieve it.  “No—I need to—almost done, almost finished...”  His head was getting dizzy from blood loss.  

            “Someone grab his legs!” Kingsley shouted.  

_How did I end up on the floor again?_   Remus kept struggling against the people holding him down.  He thought his foot connected with one of the twin’s stomach, but couldn’t be certain.  Sirius kept trying to push people off of him, but walked right through everyone.  “Sirius—the spell!”

            As more and more hands began to hold him down, it became harder to move even an inch.  The last thing Remus heard was Dumbledore’s voice.  “Stupify!”

_Blackness surrounded him, smothered him, embraced him.  As he opened his mouth to scream, it poured down his throat and pooled thickly in his stomach.  Shadows passed in and out of his vision.  He thought he heard whispers but they dissipated as soon as he concentrated on them.  His entire body was weighed down.  He could barely move his arms.  Finally he was able to make out words. **It’s a clear case of psychological break down.**   He stretched his arms out as far as he could, searching for something, anything, but met only air. **We were able to reverse the blood loss.  He should be physically healthy in a few hours.** Where was he?  Where was Sirius?  **We do recommend, however, an extended stay to analyze his mental capabilities.** Ignore the voices and keep moving.  Fight the heaviness of limbs.  What happened to Harry?  **He’s a monster...**_ _only a man, nothing more..._ _**an abomination...**_ _so sorry..._ _**A dose of this, Lupin, and all of your troubles will be over.**_ _Sharp pain, fire burning up his arm into his skull.  Blackness closing in._

            With a gasp Remus woke.  His arms were chained to a bed.  He could smell pain, and despair, and fellow werewolves.  There was no more pain in his arm, but the dizziness had not abated.  

            A face loomed over his.  Crooked teeth and a crooked nose, surrounded by the palest of skin and thin, brown hair.  The mouth curved into a smirk.  But the eyes—the eyes were deep and hard.  Remus recognized those eyes.  _No,_ he thought desperately.  _Wake up!_

            A voice, as cold as the eyes, echoing through his head.  “Hello, number 4651259.  Is there anything you want to tell me today?”

_Wake up..._

 

~~

 

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he arrived at the hospital.  He had been there once before, when Mr. Weasley was recuperating from the attack last winter.  It was eerie walking through the halls in his present company.  It was like they were on the way to a funeral, not to visit a dear friend.  McGonagall led the way at a brisk walk.  The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione followed, each silent in their own thoughts.  Tonks and Moody kept at the rear, a grim honor guard of sorts.  After several twists and turns, they arrived at the Holloway ward for Special Cases, Healer-in-Charge: Janus Malific.  

            The ward had none of the forced cheerfulness or healing atmosphere of the rest of the hospital.  There were perhaps ten occupants; some were sitting quietly on their beds, staring listlessly at the newcomers, while others were closed off behind curtains.  A door on the left side of the room led to offices while a door to the right entered a laboratory full of ominously smoking cauldrons.  And there, in the bed furthest from the entrance, staring at the only window, was Remus.  

            As Harry approached the bed of his former professor, new-found confidant, and surrogate godfather, his heart broke.  Remus’s arms and legs were chained to the bed.  The wound on his right arm was sloppily bandaged.  When Remus finally turned to look at his visitors, his eyes were unfocused and lifeless.  Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry gathered around his bed.  

            “Hello, Professor,” Hermione said softly.

            Remus stared quizzically at her for a few seconds.  “Hermione Granger, third year Gryffindor, 105% average.”  Hermione stifled a sob and looked down at her feet.

            “It’s us, Remus,” Harry said.  “We came to visit.”

            “Oh, hello.”  His eyes focused slightly.  “You shouldn’t be here.  It’s not a very heartening place.”  His voice was distant.

            “We had to see you!” Ron insisted.  “They just whisked you off without so much as a ‘He’ll be okay.’”

            “I’m sorry I interrupted your party, Harry.”  Remus smiled slightly.  “I had a rather bad encounter with a graphorn.  Happy birthday.”

            “Thanks.”  They remained quiet for a few minutes.  McGonagall walked towards the offices to talk to a Healer.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waved to Lupin, and then went outside the ward to wait with Mad-Eye and Tonks.

            A broad witch with brown hair that Harry thought he recognized bustled up.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Lupin.  I see you have visitors, so I’ll just be a minute.”  She flipped through the chart lying on the bedside table.  “My name’s Florence Dulaney, and I’ll be your new Healer.  I was transferred from Spell Damage this morning.”  Harry thought he saw her wink at him.

            “Oh!”  He suddenly remembered where he’d seen her before.  “Order,” he mouthed to the others.  

            Dulaney read through the papers quickly, a slight frown forming on her forehead.  “I have to go check on the other patients, but I’ll stop by every so often.”  A quick smile to everyone, and she walked away.  They were left alone with Remus.

            “They’re all saying you’re crazy.  They say you aren’t connected to reality anymore,” Ginny stated bluntly.

            Remus snorted.  “I bet ‘they’ didn’t want you to see me.”

            “No.  We had to beg and plead to get here,” Hermione said darkly.

            “They probably don’t want you getting any ideas.”  Remus turned his gaze back on the window.  “Sirius thinks I should explain everything, but I don’t think that’ll help my case any.”  Harry and the others shifted uncomfortably.  “So, did you get anything interesting for your birthday, Harry?”

            “Ron got me a book on Quidditch tactics—he figures I’ll be captain next year.”

            “Captain?”  Remus looked directly at Harry for the first time.  His gaze was unnerving.  “Well, you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.  I hear the Gryffindor Keeper is terrible.”

            Ginny and Hermione giggled.  Ron glared at Lupin until he realized he was being teased.  Harry was just glad that his sense of humor was still there.  They were still laughing quietly when Remus suddenly tensed.  He was staring somewhere beyond them and began to whimper.

            “Professor Lupin?” Hermione queried.  She lent forward to touch his arm.

            “No—please don’t...” Remus began to shake.

            “Remus?” Harry tried.  

            Lupin began to shake his head as he pleading got louder.  “Get away!  I didn’t do anything wrong... Please!  What about Harry?  What happened to the baby?”  He began to shout and pull at his restraints.  “Let me go!  Someone help...”

            Harry and the others backed away from the bed.  Dulaney and the Healer McGonagall was talking to rushed forward and held him down.  The Healer—Malific, Harry guessed—injected a bright purple potion into Remus’s arm while Dulaney forced another potion down his throat.  Dulaney was watching Malific very closely.  Harry nodded to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.  At his cue, they wandered away from Remus’s bedside as if waiting for the potions to take affect.  He took another step backwards, but jumped when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

            When he turned around, Harry came face to face with a haggard looking man in his fifties.  His eyes were slightly wild, but alert.  Thinning grey hair lay unkempt on his head and a poor attempt at a beard covered the bottom of his face.  He was one of the patients closed off from the rest of the ward by a privacy curtain.

            “Sneaking about, young master?”  His tone was reprimanding, but he gave a friendly smile.

            “I’m just waiting for the Healers to finish.”  Harry saw Ginny and Ron stroll into the hallway with the offices.  He could’ve sworn that McGonagall saw them, but she quickly struck up a conversation with the guard Harry had just noticed in the room.

            “Sure thing.”  The man looked over at Lupin with concern.

            “What are you in here for?”  Harry could see nothing wrong with him except his arm was in a sling.

            “Broke my arm.”  The man chuckled at Harry’s surprised look.  “Haven’t you figured out what ‘Special Cases’ means?”  Harry shook his head.  “It’s the ward where werewolves and other ‘undesirables’ are treated.  Can’t have the innocent citizenry exposed to us.”

            “But I saw a werewolf over at the Serious Bites...” Harry trailed off trying to remember the details of last Christmas. 

            “Must’ve just been bit.  After a fellow’s first full moon, he gets chucked over here.  They’ve been enforcing that more lately.”

            Harry looked closer at the man.  He appeared to have been in the hospital several days.  “Doesn’t a broken arm only take a second to fix?”

            “Sure.  But I have to stay for ‘observation’.”  He smiled glumly.  “They want to make sure I didn’t break it doing anything dangerous to the public.  Name’s Horton Steadfast, werewolf for ten years.  You can just call me Hal.”  

            Harry shook his hand.  Hal looked pleased that he didn’t recoil from touching a ‘special case’.  From his angle, Harry could just make out Hermione engaging in conversation with the guard and McGonagall.  The Healers were still monitoring Remus.  

            “Is it true, then?” Hal interrupted his thoughts.  The other werewolves in the ward were eavesdropping and making no effort to hide it.

            “What’s true?”  Harry impulsively brushed his hair over his scar.

            “Is that man there—is that _Remus Lupin_?”  Lupin’s name was said with a whispered reverence.

            “Do you know him?”

            “By name only.”  Hal gave a low whistle.  “Can’t be good, having him in here.”

            “What do you mean?”  Harry looked between Remus and Hal.

            “Well, that man there is probably the last hope for us werewolves.  He’s the leading resistance to Greyback and his gang.”  Harry still felt confused.  “There are very few of us attempting to live within wizarding society.  The rest are with Greyback, and support complete separation from the Ministry.  Unfortunately, some of them are rather violent about it and give the rest of us a bad reputation.”

            “How does Remus fit in?”

            “He’s working his way through the packs, persuading people to give wizards a chance—or at least fight for the Light.  It’s going to lead to a civil war, I tell you.”

            Harry remembered all of the speculation about Remus’s missions.  Everything began to fall into place.

            “And it’s not just werewolves.  Other Dark Creatures’ll be affected.”  Hal frowned.  “But if it gets out that Lupin ain’t all there in the head, the entire thing’ll crumble to pieces.”

            Dread began to fill Harry’s body.  “I don’t think he’s crazy.  He’s going to be fine.”  He said this with a bit more conviction than he really felt.  Hal peered intently at him.

            “Well, I’m beginning to think Lupin’s right to have a bit of faith in other wizards.”  He glanced behind Harry.  “Your friends are done ‘waiting’, and I think Lupin’s good to talk now.  It was nice meeting you...”

            “Harry Potter.”

            Hal’s gaze intensified and the smallest of smiles graced his face.  “Harry Potter.”  Without another word, Hal closed the curtains with a snap and left Harry standing alone.  As he made his way towards Remus’s bed—where the Healers had, indeed, finished up—determination swelled in his chest.  He now knew it was even more important to fix things.

            Remus was calm again, but the vacant expression had gotten worse.  Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were standing stiffly by the bed.  McGonagall indicated that their time was almost up.  Harry cleared his throat, which got Lupin looking in his direction.  

            “We’re going to be leaving soon.”

            “Leaving?” Remus asked confusedly.  “Don’t you want to stay for tea?”

            “Maybe not today, Professor, but soon,” Ginny consoled.

            Harry lightly touched his shoulder.  “Healer Dulaney’s looking after you.  You’ll be back home before you know it.”

            “I’m not crazy.”  Remus suddenly seemed focused and alert.  He looked at each of them in turn.  “You believe me don’t you?” he pleaded.  “I’m not loony.  Sirius isn’t a figment of my imagination.”

            “Umm—” Harry shifted from foot to foot.  The others were looking at the floor.  Finally, Harry looked Lupin right in the eyes.  “I believe that you believe.”  Remus seemed a little comforted by this.

            The Healer McGonagall was talking to approached them.  His name tag said he was, as Harry thought, Healer-in-Charge Janus Malific.  Malific’s dark hair was slicked back in an attempt to appear well-groomed, but instead looked slightly greasy.  His otherwise fine features were marred by a bad case of acne.  

            “I’m afraid it’s time for you to go.  Visiting hours are over for this ward.”  Malific’s voice was dry and reedy, and his tone was a bit too condescending for Harry’s liking.  

            “Can we at least say good-bye?”  Ginny put on her best pleading look.

            Malific gave a long-suffering sigh.  “I suppose you can.  I doubt he’ll understand you, though.  His medication is starting to take effect.”  

            When Malific remained standing where he was, staring suspiciously at them, Hermione gave a little cough and stepped forward.  She leant down to place a kiss on Remus’s cheek, paused for a fraction of a second, and turned to leave.  Lupin’s eyes widened slightly.  Ginny repeated Hermione’s actions and left, but not before sending a glare at Malific.  

            Ron paused at the side of the bed, uncertain what to say.  Finally, he took Lupin’s left hand in his and shook it slightly, smiled a bit, and turned away.  Malific raised an eyebrow at Harry and began to tap his foot.  Harry grasped Remus’s right hand and held it.  Remus looked quizzically at him.

            “I have hope, Remus,” Harry whispered, “and that’s good enough.”

            Harry walked to the exit of the ward, where he joined up with the Weasleys, Tonks, and Moody.  As he left the hospital, he put his hand in his now empty pocket.


	9. to fight

Things can fall apart, or threaten to, for many reasons, and then there's got to be a leap of faith. Ultimately, when you're at the edge, you have to go forward or backward; if you go forward, you have to jump together.  
~Yo-Yo Ma  


 

 

 

Remus liked the patterns the light made on the ceiling.  It reminded him of his dorm at Hogwarts.  He wanted to reach up and touch the shapes, but every time his arms could not move past a certain point.  _Like reaching for stars_ , he thought.  Remus liked looking at stars, too.  Especially when the moon was absent from the sky.  They burned brighter those nights.  

            Whenever he looked away from the lights, a new person was standing by his bed.  It disturbed him that so many people wanted to see him.  He liked to be alone sometimes.  However, he couldn’t just turn them away.  They all were counting on him, somehow; he could feel it.  Once, James and Lily were visiting him.  Remus laughed at Prong’s hair; it really was all over the place.  Lily’s musical laugh joined his, but he wasn’t quite sure what she was laughing at.  She never saw the humor in James’s hair.  

            Remus blinked and cringed.  James and Lily were staring at him with blank, lifeless eyes.  Their hair was tangled, and James’s robes were ripped.

            “Help us, Moony,” James pleaded.  Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

            “Why won’t you help us?” Lily whispered.

            Remus closed his eyes and whimpered.  He wished them gone, but immediately felt horrible that he would think such things about the Potters.

            “My poor cherub,” his mum whispered.  Her long, cool fingers touched his brow.  “Life was never easy on you.”

            “Mum,” Remus rasped.  His throat felt like coal.

            “Hush, child.  Let me sing you to sleep.”  Mum smiled gently down at him.  “ _Time to sleep, little child, time to lay your head to rest…_ ”

            Remus shakily joined in the lullaby.  “ _When the night says good-bye, I’ll be there to wake you…_ ”

            His mum started singing a second verse that he never heard before.  Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, blowing rainbow bubbles.  “Loony, loopy Lupin,” he sang.  His father paced the room, taking a wide path around some third year Gryffindors who were playing Exploding Snap.

            “All my fault,” his father mumbled.  He turned red-rimmed eyes to Remus.  “It was my fault, my only son…”  

            “No, Da,” Remus whispered.  Before he could reach for his dad’s hand, Greyback ran towards him.  “DA!”  It was too late.  Greyback pounced on his father.  He glimpsed his father’s pleading eyes and a pool of blood, before both disappeared.  

            The guards from the Rehabilitation Center were closing around his bed.  Some carried silver daggers, others foul smelling potions, and yet more had their wands drawn.  

            “Tell us, Lupin—” they chanted.  “Tell us the truth.”

            “No, go away,” he whimpered.  He reached out for his mother, but she was behind the horrible men.  Hundreds of people Remus knew stood behind the guards, their eyes pleading for help or forgiveness.  They pressed towards him, and Remus felt like he was going to drown.

            “Remus…”  He could just make out the familiar voice.  “Moony!  Remus, please look at me!”

            Reluctantly, he drew his gaze away from the glinting silver daggers.  Sirius was perched on his bed, holding his hand.  “Padfoot?”

            “Yes, Moony.  It’s me.”  Sirius rubbed soothing circles on Remus’s hand with his thumb.  “Focus on me, love.  It’s nearly time to go.”

            “Go?  Where?”  The voices of the others were fading away, and Remus could faintly recall something he had to do.

            “Remember this afternoon?  Smart kids, Harry and his friends.”

            Remus felt the cold, solid vial in his right hand.  “It’s nearly time,” he echoed.

            “I believe in you, Remus.  Remember that.”  Sirius smiled softly down at him.

            “I know.”        

            “And Harry wants so desperately to believe in you.  Did you hear him?  He has hope.”  Remus nodded.  He was beginning to fight off the scattered thoughts and drowsiness the potions gave him.  “Now you just have to believe in yourself.”  
            Remus looked at the light on the ceiling, now a softer, whiter glow.  _Picking up stars…_

  
 

~~

 

When they returned from visiting Remus, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione secluded themselves in the boys’ room.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave them pitying looks, thinking they were going to the room to recover from the shock of seeing Lupin in such a state.  Thankfully, Mad-Eye had departed soon after they returned and could not spy on them.  Once Harry closed the door, he turned expectantly towards the others.

            Ginny, perched on Harry’s bed, nodded.  “It was a bit easier than I expected, but it’s done.”  Hermione and Ron, sitting on Ron’s bed, murmured their agreement.

            “What did you find out?” he asked Hermione.

            “There’s only one guard in the ward,” she stated.  “Most of the patients are too drugged up to do anything.  The night guard usually takes a fifteen minute break around midnight.”

            “Fifteen minutes.”  Harry scrunched his face in thought.  “That’s not a long time, is it?”

            “It’s enough.”

            “Did Remus hear you clearly when you said good-bye?”

            “Well, I had to whisper it in his ear because that Healer wouldn’t let us be,” Hermione muttered, “but I think he understood.”

            “Ginny?”  Harry turned to her.

            “The office furthest from the ward on the left has a fireplace, and there’s floo powder on the mantle.”  Her eyes became distant.  “Two of those offices are for the Regulation of Dangerous Creatures Department.”  She looked back at Harry.  “I think Lupin heard me.”

            “Ron?”  Harry’s stomach clenched.  If Ron didn’t succeed, the whole thing would be for nothing.

            Ron smiled slightly.  “Piece of cake really.”  He held out a lump of clay.  “Fred and George’s Key Replicator works perfectly.  Some Healer left their keys in their office, and they were color coded, too.  Lupin was red.”

            Harry exhaled slowly.  “You slipped it to him when you shook his hand?”

            “Yep.”  Ron looked at Ginny.  “For a minute I thought McGonagall saw us, and we were goners.  Luckily she got distracted by that guard.”

            “I think it was the guard that got distracted by her,” Hermione smirked.  “I don’t think she’s quite given up on Lupin yet, either.”

            “Well, I was able to give him that vial,” Harry offered.  “So, now the rest is up to him.”

            “Hopefully he’ll be aware enough when the time comes.”

            “I think he will be.”  Harry paused.  “He’s a fighter.”

            “Well,” Ginny interrupted, “I think we need to make it easier on him on this end.  We’ll have to make sure everyone in the house is distracted or asleep.”

            “I’ll wait at the fireplace.”  He looked at each of them.  “I want to help him do whatever it is he needs to do.”

            They sat in silence for a few moments.  The gravity of what they were about to do weighed heavily in Harry’s stomach.  They were directly working against Dumbledore’s orders.  

            “It’s no use just sitting here,” Hermione burst out.  “I’m going to go study.”  They all headed towards the door, but she paused before she opened it.  “Midnight tonight, it’ll all be resolved, no matter what happens.”

 

~~

 

At Sirius’s cue, Remus maneuvered the fake key and unlocked his restraints.  His wrists were a bit raw from rubbing against the chains, but he knew he couldn’t stop to soothe them.  Time was of the essence.  He slipped from his bed with minimal noise and paused, checking that the other patients were still sound asleep.  The curtains surrounding the bed next to him billowed ominously.  An older man peered around the hangings.  Remus was in the middle of figuring out what he could use to knock the man unconscious when the man smiled and gave a thumbs up.  Taking this as a well wishing, Remus waved and quickly moved on.  

            As Hermione had said, the guard was currently somewhere outside the ward getting a cup of coffee.  He feared that he would not find the right office, but Ginny’s directions could not be misinterpreted.  Besides, there were only six doors to choose from.  The last office on the left did indeed have a fireplace, and floo powder.  Remus felt the beginnings of hope swell in his chest.  It seemed like he could pull it off…

            At the fireplace, he had to pause.  Not only did he have to fight off a wave of nausea from the medicines Malific had given him before he left for the night, he also just realized he had no wand to get past the wards on Grimmauld Place.  Sirius stood next to him, concern written all over his face.  

            “Are you okay?”

            Remus merely nodded.  The others could not hear Sirius, but his voice would certainly alert someone.

            “Do you think you could try a bit of wandless magic?”  Sirius grasped his shoulder in support.  Remus thought quickly, and then nodded again.

            He took a handful of powder, flung it in the fireplace, and whispered, “Lupin Cottage.”  The flames turned purple.  Taking a deep breath, Remus placed one hand in the flames.  He pictured the wards as he had created them.  Every different protection had a different color and a different shape.  They all fit together into a seamless amorphous cloud.  He pictured himself holding the cloud, running his hands along the surface.  The cloud hummed; it recognized its creator.  Gently, he mentally prodded each section one at a time.  Remus could feel the magic flowing out of him, and feared that he would expend too much energy.  As each one was disabled, it turned a dull grey.  

            As usual, Remus let his mind drift.  When working on wards, he found it easier to not think about it directly.  He thought back to Hogwarts, and the Marauders.  Remus, Sirius, and James were considered at the top of their class for different reasons.  James was always full of ideas.  He was creative and spontaneous.  It was James that came up with their most brilliant plans.  Remus was the theoretician.  He delved into the theory behind magic and absorbed every bit of information.  When James had an idea, it was Remus that made it possible.  Hours were spent pouring over basic structures and complex diagrams.  Often he would ‘tweak’ the ideas until they were beyond brilliant.  And then Sirius—Sirius would breathe life into the spell.  Sometimes Remus wondered if Sirius passed his classes with such ease simply because he was too stubborn to do otherwise.  He could complete a spell on the first try purely because he willed it to work.  Remus would guide him through the framework until Sirius could infuse it with his passion for life and let the words flow from his mouth.  Finally, he could feel the wards click into place.  

            “Hopscotch,” he whispered.  He held his breath, hoping they hadn’t changed the password yet.  

            “PASSWORD ACCEPTED.  PROCEED.”  Remus swore.  In the excitement of the last few weeks, he had forgotten to adjust the volume of the voice.  Footsteps were echoing somewhere outside the ward, at a running pace.  The guard had heard him.

            He turned towards the door, trying to decide whether he’d have to fight the guard before an alarm could be put out.  Through the window on the door, Remus saw the same older gentleman from the ward. 

            “Go!  Quickly!” the man shouted.  He ran into the ward.  Remus could make out the distant sounds of fighting as he stepped into the green flames and disappeared. 

 

~~

 

Everything was working as Harry had hoped, so far.  Neither Tonks nor Mad-Eye was staying at Grimmauld that night, so all he had to worry about was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  Mrs. Weasley had placed a veritable feast in front of them earlier, most likely in an attempt to cheer them up from the hospital visit.  Fortunately, all the food had settled heavily in their stomachs, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley called it a night relatively early.  They were sleeping peacefully in their bedroom while, unbeknownst to them, Ginny was standing guard outside their door.  Hermione was at the door to the house, prepared to stall anyone entering that way.  Ron was outside the kitchen; he would cover the fireplace once Remus arrived.  At five minutes past midnight, just when Harry started worrying, the flames leapt to life and Remus tumbled out of the fire.  

            “Professor Lupin, are you okay?”  Harry rushed forward to offer a hand.

            “So it’s back to Professor now, is it?” Remus said sarcastically.  He brushed the soot off his hospital gown and looked around the kitchen.  “The guards were alerted by the floo security system.  I think some of the other patients are staging a riot, however.  I’m guessing we still have fifteen minutes before they notice my absence.”

            “Well, we best get going then.”  Harry led the way out of the kitchen.  “I suppose you want to go to Sirius’s room?”  Lupin nodded.  He waved hello to Ron, who took his position by the fireplace, and started up the staircase.  They passed Ginny, who gave a thumbs up, and quietly walked by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room.  It seemed almost too easy to reach Sirius’s room.  Remus signaled to Harry to wait for a second.  He went into his old room and came back out seconds later with a wand.  “Dumbledore has my current one,” he explained.

            Remus took down the wards on Sirius’s door, and entered the room.  Harry looked briefly around the room, but his attention was quickly drawn to the cleared area by the window.  A cauldron was simmering in the moonlight.  Two antique full-length mirrors stood facing each other next to the cauldron.  A circle was made on the floor from several different artifacts, including the skull of a grindylow, the claw of a dragon, and a braid of unicorn hair.  Harry guessed that it was all the product of Remus’s recent wanderings.  Remus lit three bright red candles in the center of the circle.

            “Each object gives off a different magical energy,” Remus explained.  “For instance, the unicorn hair radiates pure life-energy.  The dragon claw is strength and endurance.  The candles represent the fire of life that flows through the veins.”

            “What about the mirrors?”  When Harry looked closer, he could see that they were extremely ancient, most likely of some historical importance.

            “The Mirrors of Fladnag.  They magnify magical signatures, enhance spells, and—most importantly—can be the convergence of two realities—a gateway, if you will.”  Remus emptied the vial Harry had given him into the cauldron.

            “And the potion?”  The smoke it was now producing filled the room and smelled of blood.

            “The steam is to be absorbed by the object—in this case Sirius—and anchor it to this world.  I will also have a sip of it to further anchor myself to the here and now.”  He picked up a piece of parchment and studied the writing on it.  “Of course, this is all nearly irrelevant to what I’m trying to achieve.  The bulk of the magic is in the spell I created.  These things are peripherals, extras to aide me.  I’m hoping that it will push the balance in my favor.” 

            “Oh, okay.”  Harry was still confused, but it sounded like he knew what he was doing.  “So you really think Sirius is alive?”

            “Not so much alive as—not dead.”

            “Isn’t this a form of necromancy?”  Harry didn’t want Remus practicing Dark Arts, even if its results were good.

            Remus paused.  “No.  Necromancy is a Dark Art that involves a wizard bringing the deceased back from the dead.  This is more like the deceased fighting death, and a wizard providing a bit of help.  Besides, everything I’m about to do is not _quite_ Dark in nature.”

            With a quick tap of his wand, the runes on the parchment turned blue and jumped onto the walls.  Unlike when McGonagall had done such a thing, Lupin flicked his wand again and the runes aligned perfectly.  As Remus sketched several more runes on the floor with chalk, Harry finally took in the room around him.  There was a large, comfortable looking bed on one wall.  Several blankets were draped over the foot of the bed; Harry guessed that Sirius was perpetually colder from his stay at Azkaban.  A long, squat dresser dominated the wall next to the bed and next to the entrance to the room.  A wardrobe was on the wall with the door that connected to Remus’s room.  Near the window was a doorway that led to a bathroom.  

            What really grabbed Harry’s attention, however, were the pictures.  Pictures in simple wooden frames filled every flat surface, and many more hung on the walls.  He began looking through them, elated to find them mostly about the Marauders and their days at Hogwarts.  Another large section featured his mum and dad, and—Harry inhaled sharply—himself as a baby.  Some pictures included people Harry didn’t know, but could guess their identities.  For instance, a mixture of Tonks and Sirius could only be Andromeda Tonks.  There were two or three snapshots from the weeks Harry spent at Grimmauld last summer and winter; he didn’t even remember having them taken.

            “They help him remember.”  Harry jumped.  He hadn’t heard Remus walk up behind him.

            “I didn’t know he had problems with memory.”  A young and smiling Sirius waved up at him from the Hogwarts Lake.

            “Well, he knows what happened.  He has the facts.  Sometimes, though, it’s hard for him to remember the good things, the happy feelings.”  Remus touched a picture of Lily and James doting over Harry.

            Harry noticed there was only one picture on the bedside table.  “What about this one?”  A younger Remus and Sirius waved at him.  Sirius was holding a newborn Harry carefully in his arms.  Remus was curled on the couch next to Sirius, his head resting on Sirius’s shoulder.  

            Lupin exhaled slowly.  “That is to remind us of simpler times, times when we were happy, at peace; our only purpose was to watch you grow, and all that mattered was that we loved each other.”  Harry began to understand why their rooms were connected.  A thousand little gestures began to form a larger picture in his head.  “It also represents what we are fighting for.  Not for Dumbledore, not for the Ministry, but for those things to exist again.  It is what we hope for.”

            “And what about the present?  Does it represent anything about now?”

            Remus looked at him.  “Yes.  We are still looking out for you.”  His gaze shifted off to the distance.  “And I still love him.”

            “Good.”  Before Harry could say anything else, a coin in his pocket flared with heat.  Hermione was inspired earlier to use their DA galleons as signals.  “They’re here.  We have to hurry.”  

            With a brief nod, Remus walked back over to the circle on the floor.  He paused abruptly, holding on to one of the mirrors to steady himself.  After the wave of dizziness had passed and his face was no longer contorted with pain, he pointed his wand at the bedroom door and began reciting spell after spell.  A bright light flared, indicating the wards had been replaced.

            “That should give us a few more minutes.”  Remus briskly walked over to the cauldron and took a sip of the potion.  “You might want to stand back.  I don’t know if this will backlash at all.  Sirius, stand between the mirrors.”

            Remus sat at the center of the artifact circle, the candles directly in front of him.  He picked up an ancient dagger from the floor and cut his right hand in one swift movement.  Harry watched horrified as the blood began flowing down his arm.  He heard shouts from outside the room and moved closer to the door.  It sounded like Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley were arguing with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.  Lupin began to chant in a language Harry was not familiar with.

            “Open the door, Remus!” Dumbledore shouted from the hallway.  “This is foolishness.  You’ll only hurt yourself or Harry.”

            Remus did not respond.  He picked up his wand with his bloodied hand and started a complex pattern.  Harry jumped several feet when a loud explosion shook the entire house.  Dumbledore was trying to shut down the wards.  Still, Remus continued chanting and waving his wand, “…opisolidus, edoveru…”  Another explosion, followed by flickering light, erupted.  Remus’s chanting got louder and the mirrors began to hum.  

            By the time Dumbledore attempted to bypass the wards for the third time, the room was cackling with energy.  The door flung open and Dumbledore was suddenly in the room.  Everything happened at once.  Dumbledore raised his wand to stop Remus from completing the spell.  Remus, however, was able to shout out, “spero revivisco”.  A bright light emanated from the mirrors and the artifacts, temporarily blinding everyone.  The room became absolutely silent.

            Many people had flooded into the room to see the outcome.  McGonagall, Tonks, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were staring in shock at Remus.  Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gathered around Harry.  Dumbledore sadly dropped his arm to his side.  Across the room, Remus stood and faced them, an uncertain smile on his face.  Harry’s stomach dropped.  

            There was no sign of Sirius.

 


	10. to love

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours.  And if they don’t, they never were.  
-Kahlil Gibran  


  
Remus knew by the looks on their faces that the spell didn’t work.  He was used to pity— he was often on the receiving end—so the reactions of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the Weasleys did not bother him.  What hurt the most, though, was knowing that the hope dying out in Harry’s eyes was his fault.  He had been strained trying to battle the effects of the medicines since he arrived at Grimmauld, but he was confident that he had been able to do everything right.  As he had chanted, he had felt the magic building up inside him.  It felt like the world had paused, and the spell was drawn from his lips as if he had waited his entire life for this perfect moment.  The only other time Remus had felt like that was when he had whispered Sirius’s name on a cold October morning many, many years ago.  

            “It should have worked—I don’t understand,” Remus whispered.  He sat down heavily, his back propped against the bed.  Sirius walked away from the mirrors, a slight frown on his face.  “Maybe it was the location…”

            “Remus.”  Sirius crouched in front of him.  Remus was aware of Dumbledore saying something to him, but he didn’t have the energy any more to listen.  

            “It should have _worked_ ,” he hissed.  “I don’t—”  His mind was becoming muddled again.  He drew his knees up to his chin; the air was getting colder.

            “Remus, look at me.”  Sirius’s eyes were full of sorrow.  “I need you to do something for me.”  

            “Anything.”

            “I want you to forget about me—”

            “ _No!_ ” Remus interrupted.  He could not lose him again.

            Sirius cupped Remus’s cheek with his hand.  “Listen to me, Moony,” he said sternly.  “I want you to live out your life, to look after Harry.  You can’t do that if they lock you up in an insane asylum.”

            “Don’t go, please don’t leave me…”  He felt tears flowing down his face, but made no effort to wipe them away.  People from his past were beginning to appear again, closing in around him and suffocating him.  “So alone…”

            “I need you to do this.  Ignore me.  I’ll try to stay out of your way.  I can live like this forever as long as I know you’ll be okay.”  Sirius’s voice was filling his head.  He couldn’t even hear Dumbledore anymore.

            “Please don’t—I can’t do this alone anymore.”  Remus was sobbing, but he barely noticed.  “Just, make them go away.”  His father was reaching out to him.  “We’ll be fine if they— _please_.”

            “You know we have to do this, Remus.”

            “Sirius, please…”  His voice broke.

            Sirius cupped Remus’s face in his hands.  He leant down and pressed a kiss on his forehead.  Remus knew he would agree to this, even though he didn’t want to; they had agreed long ago that they would sacrifice everything for each other, for Harry.  The kiss was long with a sense of urgency behind it.  It felt like fire where Sirius’s lips touched his skin.  Remus could feel all of Sirius’s love for him racing through his body, creating a shield that would protect him and hold him up through the coming separation.  He knew that Sirius could feel the same emanating from Remus.  

            When Sirius finally broke away, they both had tears in their eyes.  They would be torn apart again, but this time they were at least allowed the chance to say goodbye.  It was a small comfort.  Far in the distance, Remus heard the others in the room shifting about, followed by a very loud, “Bloody hell!”

 

~~

 

It didn’t take Remus long to realize that they could not see Sirius.  Harry knew somewhere deep inside him that if the spell didn’t work the first time, it would never work at all.  If it could never work, then all that Dumbledore was saying was true.  There would be no hope of ever having Sirius back and Remus had truly gone crazy.  It ached more than he cared to admit.  

            Ron, Hermione and Ginny were trying their best to comfort him, but he also knew that they were crushed by it as well.  Even Mrs. Weasley, who never believed in what Remus was attempting to do, was crestfallen at the failure of the spell.  Harry guessed that she felt bad for Remus or that she thought he was further gone than previously anticipated.  Everyone standing on the one side of the room watched heartbrokenly while Remus Lupin shattered.  

            Dumbledore walked a few paces towards Remus and began to talk soothingly to him.  His attempt at a calming voice only made Harry want to throw a chair.  Harry respected his professor, but he’d come to realize in the past year that the man could no longer truly connect with people.  He had no idea how devastating this failure was to Remus.  

            Remus had curled up on the floor near the bed, only his right side visible to the others.  He was muttering something about what had gone wrong.  As he continued talking to himself, however, his voice became more pleading.  It sounded like he was a child about to be abandoned by his mother.  Harry wanted to rush over there and comfort him, to tell Remus that he was not alone and that he’ll be there for him.  Lupin was crying openly, something Harry had never seen him do.  It felt like a complete invasion of privacy.  None of them should have witnessed it.  

            Remus had tilted his head slightly upwards and closed his eyes tightly.  He looked so distressed that Mrs. Weasley was crying by the doorway.  Dumbledore had stopped his coaxing and instead studied Remus.  As they all looked on, something peculiar happened.

            Thousands of tiny lights, barely the size of dust motes, began to gather near Lupin’s head.  They swirled and circled about, getting closer and closer together.  Then, a soft glow emanated from the specks.  The area became increasingly solid, and the number of specks increased.  It continued until there was a large glowing mass crouched in front of Remus.  And suddenly it was Sirius crouched there, gently holding Remus’s face and pressing a kiss to his forehead.  Harry and the others stood shell-shocked.  

            As Sirius pulled away with tears in his eyes, Hermione Granger, prefect and cleverest witch of her age, found her voice.  “Bloody hell!”  Her jaw dropped, as did Ron and Harry’s.

            “ _Hermione_ ,” Ron whispered in awe.

            Her exclamation had caught the attention of Sirius, who stood up and faced them.  He looked from Hermione, to Harry, to Dumbledore, and back again.  

            Dumbledore coughed slightly.  “Mr. Black.”  He sounded as confused as Sirius looked.  Harry had never heard the Headmaster so uncertain.  “I take it a ‘Welcome’ is in order?”

            “It worked?”  Sirius was looking at all of them now, pleased that they were able to look him in the eye.  “You can all see me?”

            Harry flew to his godfather and hugged him as hard as he could.  Sirius was solid, real, and _alive_.  He could hear Sirius’s heart beating in his chest, he could feel his arms wrapped just as tightly around him.  Harry began to cry, regardless of the amount of people still in the room watching them.

            “Hush, Harry,” Sirius soothed.  “I’m here.  I’m back and I’m not leaving you again.”

            “Uhm,” Ginny said quietly from across the room.  “Professors?”  Dumbledore and McGonagall turned to her.  “Something’s wrong…”

            Following Ginny’s gaze, they all looked at Remus.  The werewolf was still curled up next to the bed, covering his head with his arms, and rocking back and forth.  Sirius let go of Harry and rushed to his side.  Dumbledore stepped forward and crouched next to him.  

            “Remus?  Come on, Moony.  Focus on me.”  Sirius gently pushed Remus’s face up and brushed his hair off his forehead.  “Did you hear that?  The spell worked.”

            “Mr. Lupin, can you hear us?”  Dumbledore began to wave his wand over Remus.  The former professor continued rocking.  His eyes were unfocused like they were at the hospital, and he was muttering to himself.

            “They won’t let up… I don’t know anything.  All alone, it’s too dark.  Mum, please, I want to hear a song.”

            Sirius was quickly becoming distressed.  He repeatedly stroked Lupin’s hair and face, constantly whispering his name.  Remus remained oblivious to them all.  Dumbledore sat heavily on the floor, his wand lying useless at his side.  He turned to look at McGonagall.  “By Merlin,” he whispered.  “What have I done?”

 

~~

 

A fire had been prepared in the drawing room to dispel the drafts of the house, but Harry was beginning to feel the heat smothering him.  There were far too many people in the room for his liking.  Remus was curled up in a chair by the fireplace.  He had fallen silent once he was moved to this room, but his mind was still miles away.  Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were sitting on the couch.  Tonks and Mr. Weasley were leaning against the wall by the window, quietly talking to Moody.  Dumbledore was pacing the length of the room, watched by McGonagall and Harry.  Madame Pomfrey was waving her wand over Remus, attempting to diagnose what was wrong with him.  Sirius had positioned himself by Remus, one hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, the other on Harry’s. 

            “Explain everything, Sirius.”  Dumbledore turned to Sirius.  Everyone stopped talking.  “Start at the very beginning, if you can.”

            “I—I don’t remember much from the beginning.”  Sirius pulled up a chair across from Remus.  He seemed to draw strength from him.  “Everything was crazy at the Ministry.”  He chuckled.  “I was having so much fun.  I was out of the house, and fighting my cousin, no less!”  He paused to gather his thoughts.  “I remember it being very dark.  There were voices, and I was starting to go numb.  But something told me to fight it.  I think I heard Harry shouting.”

            Harry shared a small smile with his godfather.  

            “Next thing I know, I was following Remus around.  No one could see me or hear me.  It was like another prison.  And then, one day, I realized Remus could _smell_ me.”

            “That explains why he got all jittery,” Tonks interrupted.

            “And then he could see me, and then hear me.  Remember that night when he flipped over the kitchen table?”  They all nodded.  “I had been provoking him all day.  Finally he snapped.  That was the first time he was able to touch me.”

            “He punched you…” Harry whispered.

            “Yeah.  I deserved that.”  Sirius chuckled again.  “He figured it out that night.  You see, he thought he was going crazy, just like you all thought.  But then he realized what was really happening.  What it comes down to is that I was able to escape death, but not entirely.  Remus only figured out what was happening because of his condition.”

            “What do you mean?” Dumbledore asked.  “His lycanthropy?”

            “Yes.  The curse affects the brain.  It magically enhances the parts of the mind that handle emotions, specifically the part that controls aggression.  When the moon is full, it pulls the magic even further.  All that rage manifests itself in the werewolf form.”

            “I read about this!” Ron interrupted.  “In that book Professor Lupin recommended.  The one by Knight and Dae.”

            Sirius laughed.  “That’s the book we were working on.”

            “You wrote it?” Hermione asked incredulously.  

            “Well, we are trying to write it.  It gave me something to do while I was trapped in this moldy old house.  It’s not actually published yet.  Anyway, the magic also seeps into other parts of the brain and affects the other emotional triggers.  That’s why you never make a werewolf angry, and why most people think werewolves mate for life.  They can be intensely passionate.  It’s also why most werewolves spend so much energy on being emotionally cut off.  The less they access those parts of the brain, the less they feel like turning into monsters.  Some werewolves, like Greyback, give in completely to the enhanced emotions and become a horrible mix of man and monster.”

            “I have heard of this new theory.”  Dumbledore looked intently at Lupin.  “A research facility in Ireland is working on it right now.  They propose that werewolves are in reality entirely human, but in the extreme.  After all, any human can be a complete monster when out of control.”

            “We don’t quite buy all of their conclusions, but the theory is the same.  You see where this is going?” Sirius asked.  “When Remus started to smell me, he had just opened himself completely up to guilt.  When he began to see me, he had just been filled with grief.  Hearing me occurred just after a dream made him entirely happy and content.  And, obviously, he could feel me once he was absolutely angry.”

            Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed.  “It’s almost insane how coincidental this all is.”

            “Precisely.  When Remus gave full access to his emotions, it triggered the innate magic in his blood.  That magic reacted to wherever I was, and opened Remus up to my existence.  I was on the edge of life, and the one person that I was following was the one person that would have ever been able to acknowledge me.”

            “So the spell Remus created was supposed to push you that extra step into life?” Harry queried.  Sirius nodded.  “Then how come it didn’t work?  How did you actually come back?”

            “It did work.” Hermione burst out.  She was staring at Remus and Sirius with comprehension dawning in her eyes.  “It worked, but it was missing one final thing, one more emotion, the strongest of them all.  _Love_.”  She turned to Dumbledore.  “The love Professor Lupin felt for Sirius served as a catalyst for the spell.”

            “Loony, loopy Lupin… loony, loopy Lupin…” Remus muttered from his chair.

            “So what’s wrong with Remus?” Tonks asked worriedly from the window.  “The spell worked, we know he’s not crazy.  Why won’t he snap out of it?”

            “I wish I knew.”  Dumbledore was gazing sadly at Lupin.  Sirius had taken Remus’s hand in his and was rubbing it soothingly.  The pain in his godfather’s eyes hurt Harry nearly as much as his own concern for Remus.

            “Perhaps I can be of service,” a new voice responded from the doorway.  Healer Dulaney, the Order member that had escorted Harry to headquarters and had been taking care of Remus at St. Mungo’s, stood in the doorway.  Her hair was no longer tightly bound and her robes bore several smudges of dirt.  “I only hope I’m not too late.”

            Kingsley Shacklebolt followed Dulaney into the room, obviously having had escorted her to Grimmauld.  “I was finishing up an assignment when I heard that Dulaney here had been taken into custody.  Naturally, I did a little investigating.”

            “Custody?” Dumbledore was shocked.  “What for?”

            Dulaney made her way over to Remus.  “I was watching over Mr. Lupin, like you asked me to, when I noticed something off about his charts.  Malific had been giving Lupin high doses of both Nepenthe and Halifoot potions.”

            Pomfrey gasped.  “Why didn’t he just use a Calming Charm?  Did he know what he was doing?”

            “I didn’t think so, at first.”  She noticed the confused looks of the other people in the room.  “Nepenthe is a potion commonly used to subdue unruly patients.  It relaxes the muscles and often the mind.  Halifoot is used on patients demonstrating scattered thoughts, high amounts of confusion and anxiety.  This potion focuses the mind.”

            “In combination,” Pomfrey added, “the two potions can be disastrous.”

            “Relaxing Lupin opened him up to hallucinations.  Focusing his mind narrowed his thoughts to those hallucinations and his own separate world.”  Hermione gasped at Dulaney’s description.  “I had first noticed the discrepancy during your visit.  When I confronted Malific about it, he admitted to purposefully combining the two.”

            “What?” Sirius hissed.  He looked ready to kill.

            “He told me he wanted to get rid of another monster in this world.”  Dulaney’s cheeks heated up in anger.  “If Lupin had been declared completely mentally incapacitated with no hope of recovery, the Ministry would have granted Malific the right to ‘dispose’ of him.”

            Sirius growled.  Harry wanted to scream.

            “When I told him to stop, Malific had me arrested for ‘stealing hospital property’.  A false accusation, of course.”

            Dumbledore grasped Dulaney’s shoulders.  “Can it be fixed?”

            Pomfrey and Dulaney waved their wands over Remus once more, and then consulted quietly.  Sirius remained seated across from Remus, holding the werewolf’s hands in his own.  His gaze was completely focused on Lupin.  When she turned back to Dumbledore, Dulaney’s face was somber.  “We aren’t certain how much Malific was able to give him before he made it here.  In fact, I’m surprised Lupin was able to escape the hospital and get here at all, let alone do any spellwork.”

            “Can you fix it?” Dumbledore asked again urgently.

            Dulaney shifted uncomfortably.  “I have an antidote, yes.”

            “Then everything will be okay?” Mr. Weasley asked.

            “We’re not certain.  It may be too late.  Malific increased the dosage once he realized that it wasn’t working.  There is only an extremely small chance that he will become lucid again on his own—and even then it will several years.  However, if Lupin has had too much injected in him for too long, giving him the antidote might actually kill him.”  She looked around the room.  “It takes a lot out of a wizard.  He may not survive the cleansing of his systems.”

            Everyone in the room looked at Dumbledore, waiting for his response.  He was staring at Sirius.  “Mr. Black.  I believe the decision is up to you.”

            Harry noticed that Sirius only tightened his grip on Remus’s hands during Dulaney’s explanation.  He continued staring right into Remus’s unfocused eyes.  Before he realized what he was doing, Harry walked over to Remus and his godfather and put his hand over their entwined ones.  Sirius finally looked away from the werewolf, gazing questioningly at his godson.  Harry wanted to tell him that no matter what he decided, he would support him.  He wanted Sirius to know that this was hard on him as well.  He wanted his godfather to know that the three of them were family, and nothing could take that away.  When Harry opened his mouth, however, nothing came out.  Sirius raised his eyebrows, but seemed to understand what Harry wanted to say.  He nodded, smiled slightly, and returned his gaze to Remus.  Lupin, meanwhile, was starting to mutter to himself again.

            “I don’t think you should ask such a thing of Sirius, Albus,” Mrs. Weasley stated.  “He’s just come back from the dead not more than an hour ago.”

            “So who should decide?  You?”  Tonks rounded on Mrs. Weasley.  “You barely know Remus.”

            “I’m not saying it should be _me_ , I’m just saying that it shouldn’t be him!  I think Professor Dumbledore is the most qualified to make such a decision.”

            “We do have to consider what’s best for the Order, sir,” Moody added from across the room.  “Do we have the resources to take care of an incapacitated werewolf?”

            “Rather than a dead one?”  Mr. Weasley glared angrily at Mad-Eye.  “I do not want to see a friend of mine die through our actions.”

            Mrs. Weasley and Tonks were still arguing.  “Do _you_ know Remus enough?” Molly asked.

            “I know him well enough to understand what he would want, yes.” 

            Ginny had run to her father’s side and was reprimanding Moody.  “You are treating Professor Lupin like an object, not a human being!”

            “And what does he want, Tonks?  A man who’s been on the run for years to decide whether he lives or dies?”

            “I’m not saying he’s an object, _Miss_ Weasley.  I’m just reminding Dumbledore of the needs of the Order.”

            “And what the Order doesn’t need, Alastor, is another casualty.”  McGonagall’s lips were pursed so tightly that they were turning white.

            Hermione had her arms wrapped tightly around herself on the couch.  “There has to be another way…”  Ron tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder.

            “Of course it should be up to Sirius to decide!”  Harry finally found his voice.  “He’s the last family that Remus has left.  Sirius knows him better than any one of us.”

            “Remus was always so resilient, so _strong_.”  Sirius’s voice cut through the arguing.  “He’s stronger than any of us will ever know…”  He was still staring fixedly at Remus with a small frown.  Finally, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.  “Give him the antidote.”


	11. to live

  
Author's notes: Remus searches.  Sirius finds.  


* * *

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing, my darling)  
                                                    i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart 

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

~e. e. cummings  
 

The room was dark and smelled of mold.  Remus knew every inch of the small enclosure after days of nothing to do but pace.  There were no windows and no furniture.  The only thing that broke the monotony of stone and mildew was a door.  It was a sick grey and warped with age, but still held strong against any attempts to break it.  He wondered if this was what Padfoot saw day after day in that horrible place, the fortress off the shore.  _And we shall have a kingdom by the sea_.  His chuckle echoed sharply off the walls.

            He felt rather than heard the click of the lock and the scrape of the door opening.  When he spun around to face the intruder, he was met with cold, cold eyes and crooked teeth.  The man leered at him, and pulled out a whip.  Frantic, Remus ran to the furthest wall.  But the man was quick and the whip quicker.  He felt the lashes across his skin, fire making its way down his back.  One lash grazed the side of his face.  Blood trickled down his cheek and dripped off his chin, splashing bright red against the slimy stone.  

            Remus felt a throbbing on his right arm, deeper and more painful than the lashes of the whip.  The tattoo was smoldering, the smell of his burning skin making his head reel.  The numbers flared red, then turned the deepest black.  He scratched at his skin, trying to get the ink off, trying to ignore the pain from the whip and the laughter of the man.  Remus watched in horror as the ink began to spread, inching its way up his arm like the long, reaching fingers of a demon.  

            _This is not right,_ he thought.  _Something is terribly wrong._   He screamed in desperation, but the man kept flicking the whip and the whip kept scoring his back.  _It was all a dream, then_ , he realized.  All of it was some wicked dream.  He had not brought Sirius back to life because Sirius was not dead.  Sirius was in Azkaban while Remus was _here_ and it was all some sort of twisted dream.  Somewhere Harry was crying for his parents and Lily could not soothe him because Lily was dead and Sirius had _betrayed them._   He began to claw at the stone wall, trying to dig his way out of this room and away from the man with the whip, back to the dream which was sad and full of worry but oh so much better than this.  He scraped and scraped at the wall, ignoring the pain and the blood and the way his fingernails were ripped out by the unforgiving stone.  He had to get out, had to get to Sirius.

            “Don’t you see?” the man cackled.  “Black is a Death Eater.  He’s as much of a monster as you are.  Admit to it!”  Fire on his back.  _It is all a lie_.  The black ink had reached his neck and slowly started squeezing.  _It can’t be true!_   Crack of the whip, burning flesh.  “Nothing but evil.”  Bloody fingers, nearly to the bone now, but still digging, still searching.  “He betrayed everyone.”  _But Sirius loves me…_

And then the stone was crumbling, caving in.  It blew into dust that filled his mouth and nose and he coughed until his throat was sore.  Remus instantly recognized his surroundings as the Shrieking Shack.  It creaked and swayed, protesting the intrusion.  He was in the bedroom, the room with the least destroyed furniture but the most painful memories.  His bones ached deeply like they did after every full moon.  Chunks had been ripped out of the dresser and door, long thick claw marks that _he_ had put there.  Remus turned to the bed—the place where he had crawled to after transforming and spent long, painful minutes waiting for Madame Pomfrey to come attend his wounds, the place where his friends tried desperately to ease the pain of the one thing they could not fix.  

            His parents lay on the bed, facing each other as they often did in sleep, their hands entwined between them.  But they were not sleeping.  Their eyes were wide open, terror written across their faces.  Both of their bodies were covered in gashes and large gaping wounds, only their faces remained untouched.  Blood had soaked the entire bed and was dripping to the floor.  Bile rose to Remus’s throat when he recognized what creature could have made those injuries.  Shaking in misery and already knowing what he would find, he slowly raised his hands to his face.  His fingers still ran red, but it was not his own blood.  No, he could smell the blood of his parents crusted under his fingernails.

            Remus fell to his knees at the foot of the bed and vomited, the sight and smell of half-digested chunks of meat causing him to gag further and … _Oh god, what have I done?_   He crawled his way to the side of the bed and knelt so that he could see their faces.  His mother’s hair was spilling across the pillows, glowing golden in the light of the sunrise.  Remus’s father had fallen in love with that hair, and was immensely proud when Remus, his only child, inherited it.  He had not lived to see the grey that now marred it.  Slowly, Remus extended his hand to brush a strand away from her face.  As he pushed the hair away, blood from his fingers streaked across her pale forehead.  The sight shattered the last bit of control he possessed.  He remained kneeling at the side of the bed, his hands grasping at his mother’s arm, as he howled his grief to the heavens.  

            He was uncertain of how long he stayed like that, but his parents’ bodies were now cold and stiff.  The sound of struggling reached his ears.  Numbly, he went to the door to investigate.  Remus could not walk far before the second floor hallway ended abruptly.  Where stairs should have been, solid silver bars blocked his movement.  A scream from the room below grabbed his attention.  He could just make out a black creature, wild and enraged, leaping onto something hidden by the couch.  At the same moment Remus realized that it was a werewolf, the couch was tipped over and he could view the entire living room.  

            Peter—poor, misguided Peter—was curled up in the corner farthest from the werewolf.  Remus could smell the heavy stench of urine and knew without looking that Peter had wet himself.  The man was absolutely frozen with fear.  His eyes were wide and his mouth completely slack.  In his right hand he held his wand, but did not make any motion to use it.  The werewolf, meanwhile, was trying to attack something off to Remus’s right.  But James— _oh, Prongs_ —was attempting to beat him away.  With every blow James gave, he was bit or clawed in return.  No matter how hard James tried, the wolf kept coming.  He was growing weaker every second, Remus could tell.  Slowly, Remus turned to his right to see what the werewolf was trying to attack.  He barely made out the bright red hair laying in a pool of deeper red before looking away in horror.  The sound of a baby crying pierced his heart.

            Even though he knew with heavy certainty that it was too late, Remus beat at the bars holding him back.  Disregarding the smell of silver-burned flesh, he tried to yank and bend and crush the bars, but to no avail.  He screamed his throat raw trying to get James to turn into Prongs, or Peter to use his wand, or Sirius— _where was Sirius?_ —to get that werewolf out of the Shack.  None of them heard him.  The deepest part of him growled, _This is **my** pack, this is **my** territory—Get Out! _  The werewolf merely turned his burning red eyes towards Remus and laughed. 

            And laughed, and laughed as Remus rolled down the hill, tumbling and flopping about until he reached the bottom with a thump.  The laughter continued to Remus’s confusion, until he noticed the people surrounding him on all sides.  They were all there—James and Lily, Peter and his parents, plus many more.  He spotted McGonagall and Arthur Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.  Behind him was the Hufflepuff he tutored his sixth year, the first (and only) girl he ever took to Hogsmeade, and one of Lily’s roommates he was quite sure fancied Peter but was too shy to say anything.  

            “You’re It, Remus,” Daphne sang from the top of the hill.  “Try to catch us, if you can.”

            “Catch us,” Harry echoed with a laugh.  “You have to catch us all.”

            And then they were running.  Remus chuckled as he dashed after them, always a bit too far behind.  There was nothing but hills in sight, no place to hide, but it was still unnaturally hard to catch anyone.  It was the most fun he could remember having in a long while.  The chilly air was burning in his lungs, though, so he decided to rest for a spell.  As he lay panting on the grass, realization slowly seeped over him.  _Spell,_ he thought.  _Sirius…_   With renewed determination, Remus took off after the people.  Finally he snagged Hermione by the edge of her sleeve.  

            “Sirius!” he shouted.  “Where’s Sirius?”

            “That I can’t tell you,” she replied, “for he has lost himself and is no longer Sirius.”

            Remus grunted in frustration and ran after the next nearest person.  His legs ached from all the running, but he was able to catch Peter.  “Peter…” he panted.  “Have you seen Padfoot?”

            “Now that’s not playing by the rules, Remus Lupin.”  Peter started laughing.

            He continued his search.  Soon after Peter had left him, he ran into his mother.  A smear of blood still marred her forehead.

            “I—I killed you,” he stuttered.  “I didn’t mean to, but—I’m so sorry, and—”

            “Hush, cherub,” she whispered, and tweaked his nose.  “You don’t owe anyone anything, least of all an apology.”

            “I—Sirius—”

            “Sirius will find you, if you let him.”  She kissed his forehead.  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she scrutinized his face.  With a satisfied nod, she let go and walked away.  Remus sighed and ran on.  At the dip between two hills, Remus pulled aside a familiar looking Gryffindor fifth year.  With a gasp, he found himself looking into the eyes of his younger self.

            “I need to find Sirius.”

            “You’re silly.  You’ve already found him.”  Young Remus’s eyes sparkled with mischief.  “I’m the one who needs to find him.”

            “But I need to _speak_ to him.  Where is he?” Remus snapped.

            “Where are _you_?  You need to catch us all, Moony.”

            He climbed to the top of the highest hill and searched as far as he could.  The moon was high in the sky and cast deep shadows.  Everywhere he looked there was no sign of Sirius.  A sudden stinging pain across his arm made Remus jump.  The stars were falling out of the heavens, rushing towards him.  One by one they whooshed past him, speeding up until Remus was overwhelmed by the bright streaks.  They were surprisingly cold when they brushed his skin.  Stars that he took so much comfort in before, found so much warmth in, were stinging and slicing with a sharp chill.  The sky broke into a thousand shards of glass, falling to the earth in a dazzling display of light and shredding at his skin.

            And then silence.  Everyone was staring at him.  Remus looked at the sky and saw that the stars had returned to their places.  But the moon—the moon was full and heavy, its bright light holding the promise of agony.  He turned to the others and screamed at them to run away, but they still stood staring blankly at him.  The moon was pulling at his bones, stretching his muscles.  Just as he felt the first wave of pain rolling through his body, the earth tilted.  

            Ground that was once full of hills was now flat.  Remus started to lose his balance against the slowly slanting land.  He grasped at the grass, digging his fingers as deep into the soil as he could.  People around him did nothing, merely falling down into darkness as they lost their footing.  Soon Remus was clinging to the dirt wall, nothing but air below him.  His fingers began to slide through the soil, unable to find any purchase against gravity.  

            With a strangled yell, Remus was falling, falling down into the dark abyss.  He flailed about, trying to find something to grab hold of, but closing his hand on emptiness.  Just when he thought that he would be falling for eternity, he landed in an ocean of water that was not water.  The liquid oozed around him as he sank deeper into the sea.  His arms moved sluggishly through the substance towards the surface, but he could not fight the pull that was dragging him down.  As he sunk further, the liquid began to boil.  His body was burning all over.  Remus struggled harder and screamed for help as his skin began to blister.  He watched in horror as his flesh began to melt off his bones.  

            The burning was so intense that he did not notice at first the arms wrapped protectively around his chest.  The man behind him was holding him tightly, keeping him from struggling more.  A familiar smell reached him, and he knew he finally found Sirius.  Remus tried to turn in his arms to see his face, but Sirius clung tighter.  

            “Breathe with me,” Sirius whispered into his ear.  

            Remus was scared, however.  If he tried to breathe, the boiling water would enter his lungs and melt him from the inside.  But having Sirius wrapped around him seemed to hold off the heat.  The burning was no longer mind-numbing, and his skin—once he gathered enough courage to look—was firmly attached to his body.  Closing his eyes, Remus sharply inhaled.  Instead of choking as he had feared, he breathed in fresh air.  

            They were still sinking into the vastness of the ocean and everything was getting darker, but he found himself relaxing into the rolling currents.  Sirius did not remove his arms or let Remus turn around.  He could feel Sirius’s heart beating steadily at his back.  The panic that had filled him previously was beginning to dissipate.  His breathing got deeper and stronger.  As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he felt his heart ease its frantic thumping until it beat perfectly in time with Sirius’s.  

 

~~

 

After the antidote had been administered, they tried to move Remus into one of the bedrooms to recover.  Whenever someone tried to touch him, however, he began to thrash about.  Eventually they decided to put him on the couch in the drawing room, where he continued staring blankly into the distance.  Healer Dulaney returned to St. Mungo’s to help Kingsley gather evidence of Malific’s malpractice.  She wanted to stay and help, but Madame Pomfrey made it perfectly clear that she had looked after Remus since he had gotten his first wand, and Dulaney was to concentrate solely on putting that horrible man in Azkaban.  Pomfrey was currently hovering over Remus, prepared for whatever should happen next. 

             Mrs. Weasley had shepherded the children off to their rooms, insisting that they at least _try_ to get some sleep.  Judging by the whispers and thumps coming from their rooms, Sirius knew sleep was the last thing on their minds.  Molly had even tried suggesting that he get some rest as well, but the attempt was half-hearted and quickly cut short, and she joined the others in the kitchen.  Sirius wanted to stay in the drawing room with Remus.  It was his fault, after all, that Remus was in this state.  Fighting for his sanity—his very _life_ —simply because Sirius was too stubborn to die quietly.  The irony was too much for his heart to handle. 

            Everyone walked about the house as silently as they could.  It did not matter how much they tried, though.  Sirius could still hear the whispers of voices echoing against the walls and the muffled shuffling of feet on worn carpet and wood.  Their attempt at silence only irritated Sirius further—they were acting as if Remus was on his deathbed.  His vigil was interrupted by a polite knocking.  

            “Can I have a word, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked from the door.  

            “Anything you have to say can be said here.”  Sirius looked pointedly at Remus.  “I don’t want to leave this room.”

            “Of course.”  Dumbledore sat across from him.  Madame Pomfrey excused herself so that they could talk privately.  For several minutes, Dumbledore merely stared into the fire while Sirius continued looking at the couch’s occupant.  Finally, he sighed deeply and turned to Sirius.  “I would like to apologize, but I’m uncertain whether that will be enough for my errors.”

            A strange calm suddenly filled Sirius, and he responded in an uncharacteristically detached voice.  “There is no need to apologize, sir.  You were only acting in what you considered were the best interests of the Order, and of Remus.”

            “It is true that, based on the evidence given to me, I felt there were potential hazards for the Order.  Remus appeared to be a danger to himself and others, and he holds too much important information in his head.  I had to imagine the worst case scenario.”  The smallest of twinkles returned to his eyes.  “Of course, this isn’t the first time that I have been led astray by misleading evidence.”

            Sirius realized then that Dumbledore was apologizing for more than just recent events—he was referring to everything that had befallen them.  “You are in a position of leadership.  Often that requires you to make difficult decisions.  I understand.”

            “I feel as if I have been explaining myself far too often lately.  Too many mistakes…” Dumbledore trailed off.  Sirius wondered briefly what else he had needed to apologize for, but quickly dismissed the thought.  It wasn’t his place to talk about blaming one’s self.  He almost did not catch Dumbledore’s next statement, it was so quiet and distant.  “There were other reasons for me to question Remus’s sanity.”

            “Like what?” Sirius asked after a few moments of silence.  Dumbledore looked up sharply at him, but his eyes focused somewhere beyond him.

            “Has Remus told you about how he spent the first few years after you were arrested?”  Sirius nodded.  “Good.  I’m glad he has confided in you.  I’m sure he mentioned how long it took for him to recover.”

            “Almost a whole year.  But I don’t understand…”

            “I do not expect you to.  You were not there.”  At Sirius’s stricken look, he quickly added, “That was not an accusation, Sirius.  The events that occurred were beyond your control.  But I was the one who saw him in that cell, I was the one who watched as he slowly mended.  Remus was—not himself.  I do not think there is any other way to say it.  At first he was entirely locked in his own mind.  He did not speak or respond to others.  As he began to emerge from that state, his speech was scattered and unintelligible.”

            Sirius turned his gaze to the fire.  No matter what Remus or Dumbledore told him, he was to blame for most of what happened.  He should have never doubted Remus.

            “Eventually he was able to converse normally,” Dumbledore continued.  “However, his mind was still in 1981.  He would ask about James and Lily, whether he could visit them soon.  He talked to them, he talked to you—despite the fact you were obviously not there, and regardless of how many times we explained what had happened.  The healers told me it was a combination of intense grief and torture.  Remus could not accept what had happened—to him and to the ones he held dear—so he blocked it out of his mind.”

            Remus began to whimper.  He quieted moments later, so Sirius did not call for Poppy.  Dumbledore sighed softly as he looked at the werewolf.

            “So when you fell beyond the veil, I was wary of Remus’s reaction.  It was obvious that he—cared for you a great deal.  I was uncertain as to whether such a blow would create the same reaction.  And then I found out that he had been talking to air again, and assumed it did.  Obviously, I was not watching close enough.  What I did not account for was your stubbornness, or Remus’s conviction, or the large capacity for believing that only children possess.  And for that, I apologize.”

            Sirius responded with the same detached voice.  “Everyone makes mistakes, sir.  No one could have expected my return.”

            “When can I look forward to _your_ response, and not what Remus would have you say?” Dumbledore asked with a knowing smile.  Sirius felt himself smiling in return.

            “As soon as everything is back to normal, I will be wanting a word with you.  About many things.”  

            “Ah, yes.  I assume part of it is Harry’s living situation?”

            “Naturally.  I can assure you I will be quite upset.  There may even be yelling.” 

            Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair.  “I cannot wait.  I must return to Hogwarts now.  Alastor has been told to inform me of any changes in the situation.”  As he stood in the doorway, he turned his gaze once more onto Remus.  “He will find his way back to us.”

            “How can you be so certain?”

            “Because he is not alone in this.”  Dumbledore looked at Sirius.  “He never was.” 

            Without any more explanation, he left.  Sirius sat for a while, staring into the fire.  Remus began to whimper again, but this time did not show signs of stopping.  He rushed to the couch to see if he could offer some comfort, only to find blood dripping down Remus’s right arm.  

            “Madame Pomfrey!”  Remus was scratching forcefully at his forearm.  Sirius was prying his hand away when Poppy rushed into the room.  Without a word, she began to wipe away the blood and wave her wand over the wound.  

            “Can you sedate him somehow?” Sirius asked, once Remus had calmed down again.  “It’s just some scratches right now, but he might hurt himself more next time.”

            “I would if I could.  I’m afraid anything I might try will just create more problems.”  Pomfrey finished inspecting the arm.  The cuts had closed up nicely and would disappear entirely in a few minutes.

            “What do you mean?  You can’t do anything?” he asked sharply.  His earlier detachment was being slowly burned away.  

            She looked crossly at him.  “His body is currently oversaturated with two rather powerful potions, Mr. Black, one of which _is_ a sedation potion—plus there’s the antidote.  Any more magic, specifically anything for calming, might interfere with the healing process.”

            “ _Might_ interfere.  Surely there must be something you can do.”

            “Mr. Black, I assure you that I am doing everything I can for him—”

            “It’s not enough!  Clearly he’s in pain—and don’t tell me he can’t handle any more spells, since you just performed a bit of magic on him.”

            Tonks entered the drawing room hesitantly, her eyebrows raised at all the yelling.

            “If you’re implying that you know more than a qualified healer about the delicate balance of healing magic, potions, and the human body, then I suggest you _take a walk_!”  Madame Pomfrey had drawn herself up to her full height and was pointing imperiously to the door.  Sirius felt twelve years old again, and about to be kicked out of the hospital wing for the first time.

            “And what about Remus?” he asked petulantly.  “You’ll need someone else here in case he acts up again.”

            “I’m sure Ms. Tonks can lend a hand.”  Tonks started at the mention of her name.  Sirius glowered at her, and she shrunk back slightly.

            As Sirius walked reluctantly to the door, he saw Pomfrey lean over to stroke Remus’s hair.  “Poor boy,” she whispered.  “I wonder what got you so terrified that you’d hurt yourself…”

            Black numbers against pale skin and Remus’s distraught face rushed through his mind.  “He’s being haunted by his worst memories.”

            Poppy looked up at his voice, and her face softened slightly.  “You can’t do anything else here, Sirius.  Please, get some rest.”

 

~~

 

The door flew open with little resistance.  Since Pomfrey had kicked him out, Sirius had been pacing from room to room in an attempt to calm his nerves.  Somehow, he had wandered near his— _their_ —bedroom to the sitting room across the hall.  It was a useless little room that they had barely spared a second glance when first sweeping through Grimmauld.  _Another useless room in this useless house of a useless family,_ Sirius thought bitterly.

            There were two chairs facing a small fireplace.  Between them was a table, ideal for chess games.  Several bottles of expensive liquors stood on a counter next to the door.  With a slightly shaky hand, he poured himself a glass of brandy, the one Muggle thing that his father actually approved of, and then lit a small fire in the fireplace.  Before he could take a drink, however, Sirius spotted the table in the far corner.  It was supporting an antique gramophone that Remus had brought last summer.  He walked over to it and noticed a vinyl labeled ‘Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony’ already on the turntable—the second movement, Remus’s favorite.  With a simple flick of his wand, Sirius had the sound amplified throughout the entire house.  

            The first chord struck, echoing against the walls, along the stairways, and in the empty place inside his heart.  Sirius could picture the others in the house pausing in their activities or standing in doorways and looking up, trying to find the source of the music.  He could picture them closing their eyes and just listening.  It was important, somehow, that he had them hear this—this small piece of the man he loved.  

            Sirius turned around to face the room, noticing for the first time all the other traces Remus left behind.  Books were lining the mantle of the fireplace.  His father’s old metal chess set was replaced with Remus’s soft wooden one.  A shaggy brown carpet lay in front of the hearth, and a well-worn blanket was draped over one of the chairs.  Sirius could imagine Remus sitting here relaxing, listening to music, reading, and sipping tea on a quite afternoon.  At some point over the course of the previous year, Remus had fought against the house and made it a home, however sinister Grimmauld tried to be.  

            Sirius wondered if this was what it was like for Remus after he died—discovering small signs of him at every turn.  With a gasp that was not quite a sob, Sirius flung his glass across the room.  It hit the wall with a satisfying shatter, and he returned to the table by the door.  One by one, he threw the bottles and glasses. 

            “Is this what you wanted?” he shouted over the music at the house, at his parents, at life.  “Is this the only way we could ever be together—finding each other only to be wrenched apart again?”  

            He continued throwing his father’s finest decanters, not caring where they hit or how much noise he made.  

            “Is this how I am to spend the rest of my life?  Always useless, always putting those around me in danger?”  Sirius laughed hollowly as one bottle smashed into the fire and exploded, the brief rush of flames not quite large enough to escape the grate, but hot enough to beat at his cheeks.  

            “Well, you’ve won!” he threw his head back and stretched his arms out, continuing to shout.  “I give up—life will never be easy and I will never be happy.  Do you hear that?  You won!”

            He ran across the hallway to their bedroom, flinging the door open.  With a large brush of his arms, he swept the pictures from the dresser onto the floor.  _They’re all pointless,_ he thought.  _Poison.  Showing me what I once had but can never have again._   As he moved to sweep off the rest of the frames, he stepped on something that crunched in protest.  Looking down, he froze.

            Remus smiled up at him from over seventeen years ago.  He was seated in only his pajama bottoms at the old sagging piano they had found and added to their first flat.  It was a joke in the beginning, to add something ‘classy’ to their messy little home, but slowly it became one of their prize pieces of furniture.  Remus had charmed it to play some of their favorite songs, and they spent many evenings curled up on the couch, talking about their days, and listening to the music.  In the picture, Remus was fiddling around on the keyboard, occasionally glancing up at the camera and smiling—a fully open smile that he rarely displayed.  The sunlight was hitting his skin in such a way that made him glow.  He had not even protested at having his picture taken.  To Sirius, he was breathtaking.  

            Sirius could not remember exactly when the picture was taken, but the truth of it stabbed his heart.  Once upon a time, Remus had felt relaxed around him.  To expose himself so much—physically and emotionally—with complete ease, that was something that Sirius missed dearly.  Ever since Azkaban, Remus had never quite opened up to such an extent.  Like the glass of the picture frame, things had become cracked.  But the truth was, Sirius now realized, it was mostly his fault.  

            He had been irritable and distant.  He became a ghost, haunting the place of his own nightmares.  The house smothered him and his separation from Harry scared him, and he took it out on Remus.  They would fight over the smallest things.  Looking back on it, Sirius could remember several times when Remus had tried to help him, get him to heal.  And he had just pushed him away.  He couldn’t understand it.  For the last year of his life, he had been horrible to Remus.  However, his lover still risked everything to save him.  

            It was more than that, too.  Sirius was not a dense man, no matter how he appeared sometimes.  Although he had endured the Dementors of Azkaban for twelve excruciatingly long years, he recognized that Remus had also been through hell.  Remus had lived through countless full moons of pure agony, plus the harsh life of an outcast.  He had survived torture that nearly broke him.  And yet, the man was not swallowed up in bitterness.   Hadn’t he just seen the proof that Remus was stronger than all of that?  He refused to be beaten down by Grimmauld’s gloomy atmosphere. 

            _So what’s wrong with me?_ Sirius thought.  Perhaps—perhaps that was the real effect of the Dementors.  They sucked out all the happy thoughts, leaving nothing but the worst memories, but it was after he was away from their presence that he felt the extent of their reach.  The negativity that they fed on seeped into every aspect of his life.  Of course he felt caged in while confined to this house.  But it was just a house.  Any bad memories he associated with it were in the past, the people long dead.  Even his frustration at being useless was pointless.  It was all irrelevant.  Remus was evidence that all he needed was the comfort of connections—his relationships with Harry and Remus, even with the other Order members.  Sirius had let the past consume him, while Remus had accepted the past and moved on.  

            Without paying much attention to where he was headed, Sirius left the room and began to walk through the house.  He found himself standing at the door to his father’s old bedroom.  Sirius had not been there since they first set up Grimmauld for headquarters.  In those days, he felt the walls closing in around him, and his father’s room represented the worst of everything he despised.  But Remus was downstairs fighting for his life.  The least he could do was face down his demons.  For Remus.  It was time to stop running.

            The doors opened swiftly with a silent command from Sirius.  Air rushed out, heavy with dust and mildew.  He had not let Molly extend her cleaning campaign to this room—there were too many potential dangers to non-Blacks, and he was far too reluctant to enter to help out—so it was much the same as the last time he had been inside.  The wood furniture was extremely fine quality and had not suffered much from age and neglect.  Cobwebs covered the crevasses of the curtains surrounding the finest bed in the Black household, making its natural grandeur ominous.  He could picture his father sitting at the writing table, giving young Sirius one of his lectures on blood purity and upholding the family name—or worse, lapsing into a disappointed silence.  Like his previous venture into this room, his breathing became labored and the walls seemed to loom closer.  The wardrobe leered at him and the bed was whispering dark secrets.

            And then he looked down at the picture of Remus that he still had clutched in one hand.  He thought of Remus’s smile, and the wonderful past few weeks they spent traveling the world.  As he gently traced Remus’s face, one finger snagged on the cracked glass and began to bleed.  He watched disconnectedly as the blood welled up on his fingertip.  When the first drop of red hit the floor, Sirius’s mind suddenly became clearer than it had been in a long while.  Glancing around the room, he saw that the furniture was just lumps of wood.  The walls were actually slightly buckled and warped, with water stains down the corners.  Colors were faded and fabrics torn.  It was just a room again—a mere object once inhabited by a pathetic old man.  

            What was it that Remus had told him that night in Germany?  He was a Black, and he could not deny it.  But he was also Sirius, and he was Padfoot.  Remus’s lover and Harry’s godfather.  A powerful wizard and a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  The only Gryffindor in a den full of Slytherins.  Sirius drew in a deep breath.  If Remus could accept every part of him, then so could he.  He was Sirius Black—the last member of the Black family, and its last chance at redemption.  Through dying, he had been given the chance to regain his life.  He would not waste it.  The Master of the House of Black had returned, and nothing was going to be the same again.  

            He threw back his head and laughed.  It had only been a few minutes since his tantrum in the sitting room, and the music was still echoing loudly throughout the house.  The drums that were in the climax of the piece vibrated in his chest, but it was a pale imitation to his heart, which now seemed to be bursting with life and energy.  He was not fully recovered, not by any means.  There would be days, he knew, that he would see nothing but bleakness and hopelessness.  But he had the knowledge of peace now.  

            Gently, he placed Remus’s picture on his father’s desk.  It stood proud and alone among the dust, a simple act of defiance against his dark memories.  As if sensing that Sirius could not be intimidated, the house’s magic shifted and realigned.  The house could no longer fight back against him.  He could feel it deep in his bones.  He was not struggling in the grips of Grimmauld.  Sirius _owned_ this place.  

            Leaving his father’s room, he headed down the hallway towards the stairs.  If he stretched his arms out, his fingers could graze the walls on either side of him.  Moldy green wallpaper that had resisted every previous attempt to remove it now ripped and tore away at his slightest touch—strips of blank wall trailed behind him.  On the stairs, he paused at the house-elf heads.  The special Permanent Sticking Charms gave way under the touch of the last Black.  He ripped the heads off the wall and Banished them to the basement, where they would be disposed of later.  Sirius was still defiant towards his ancestry, but he had gained acceptance, and with acceptance came control.  Grimmauld could challenge him no more.

            “Sirius?”  Harry was standing at the top of the stairs, a questioning look on his face.  The other children stood behind him.  “What’s going on?”

            “How did you get those nasty things off the wall?” Molly asked from the kitchen doorway.  “Was that you causing all that racket upstairs?”

            “Remus was right!” he exclaimed.  He practically skipped down to the middle of the hallway, under the silver serpent chandelier.  A quick flick of his wand changed it to shining, golden vines, and it stayed that way.  “I mean, he’s always right—but this time he was _really_ right—and I finally listened.”

            Harry walked down the stairs and stood in front of him.  “What are you talking about?”

            “He was trying to tell me all last year and I just ignored him, but it worked.”  Sirius grasped Harry’s shoulders and bent to look in his eyes.  “Remember this, Harry,” he said seriously.  “The past is a part of you, but it does not control you.”

            “I—” Harry was cut off by shouts from down the hall.

            Sirius ran to the drawing room at top speed, uncertain as to what he would find.  He quickly took in the scene from the doorway.  Remus was off the couch and stumbling around the room.  Madame Pomfrey and Tonks were trying to grab hold of him, but they were easily flung away.  It appeared as if Remus were searching blindly for something.  His flailing arms knocked over one of the chairs and had swept everything off the coffee table.  As he turned towards the fireplace, Sirius was able to sneak up behind him.  He pinned Remus’s arms to his sides and lifted him slightly off the ground.  However, Remus was kicking fiercely and quickly overbalanced them.  With a painful thump, Sirius found himself sitting on the floor, Remus securely between his legs and against his chest.  Poppy ran forward, her wand brandished.  

            “The antidote has fully kicked in—he’s trying to fight it.”  She tapped Remus’s forehead with the tip of her wand.  “His temperature has gotten worse.”

            Remus continued to struggle in Sirius’s hold.  It took all of Sirius’s strength just to keep him in his arms.  “C’mon, Moony.  Fight the hallucinations, not the potion.”

            “Someone get me some water,” Pomfrey ordered the people gathered at the entrance.  “We can’t let him get dehydrated.”  Molly hurried towards the kitchen.  “ _Merlin_ , he can’t breathe!”

            Sirius finally noticed the wheezing and gasping, and the tense muscles in his chest and back.  Poppy was desperately trying to think of spells that would not interfere with the antidote, firing them off as soon as she thought of them.  

            “It’s ok, Remus.  I’m right here.  I’ve got you,” Sirius began whispering into his ear as Madame Pomfrey continued her work.  He hoped that Remus could hear him.  “You can’t give up yet.  I’ve got plans for us—big plans.  Remember that house in the country you wanted?  I’m going to buy it.  There will be a large yard full of flowers and perfect for stargazing, and we can spend hours just laying in the sun.”

            Poppy began wiping Remus’s forehead with a damp towel.  “I’ve done all I can,” she told Sirius.  “It’s up to him now.”

            He tightened his hold on him.  “We’ll spend summers there.  And maybe—I was just thinking we could spend winter in Grimmauld.  Fix it up to be a _real_ home.  Mum would just _love_ that.  It’s close to Diagon Ally, and we can visit London whenever we want.  Or maybe we can just find a flat like when we left school.”  The wheezing turned to silent mouthing and the seizures increased.

            “He’s turning blue!” Hermione shrieked.  “Why can’t you fix him?  Someone fix him!”

            Sirius’s voice came faster and more desperately.  “And we can buy a shop in Diagon Ally.  Remember that idea?  I’m not sure what we’d sell anymore, but—oh, love, just _breathe_.  Come on, deep breaths, nice and slow.  Breathe with me, love…”

            Remus stiffened suddenly, a slight gurgling coming from his throat.  And then, with a weak cough, he collapsed limply into Sirius’s arms.  Everyone in the room was silent as Madame Pomfrey checked him.  

            “Is he—is he ok?” Tonks asked, her eyes full of fear.  But Sirius could feel the slight rise and fall of Remus’s chest, and the weak but steady beating of his heart.  Looking down into his face, Sirius could tell that he was sleeping now.  The first light of dawn was fighting its way through the dirty glass window and into his face.  _Has it only been a few hours?_ he thought.  _It feels like another decade has passed me by._

            Poppy looked up at the others with a large grin on her face.  “The fever’s broken.”

 

~~

 

The first time Remus woke up, Harry thought it was a trick of his imagination.  He and Sirius had been throwing Every Flavor Beans at each other and talking about Quidditch.  When he happened to glance over at the bed, Remus’s golden eyes were staring intently at him and a small smile graced his face.  By the time he had told Sirius, however, Remus had drifted off to sleep again.  Sirius had been extraordinarily merry for the rest of the day—he had even swept Mrs. Weasley into an impromptu waltz in the kitchen. 

            The second time that Remus woke up, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were also witnesses.  They had all been gathered in the bedroom, discussing the best secret passages at Hogwarts and their possible uses for mischief—much to Hermione’s displeasure.  Sirius had left the room briefly to get something to eat.  Ginny was browsing the many pictures placed around the room with Harry while Ron and Hermione were arguing again, when Remus suddenly sat up.  He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Monkey’s uncle,” before lying back down and looking sleepily around the room.  When his eyes landed on Harry, he said, “’M hungry.”

            They had all remained motionless at his unexpected alertness, until Ginny came to her senses and ran from the room bellowing for Sirius.  The next few minutes were rather chaotic between Sirius’s excited energy, Mrs. Weasley bringing tray-loads of food, and four rather chatty teenagers.  Remus merely blinked sleepily at them and smiled stupidly.  

            “—and McGonagall swore up and down that the spell—”

            “I knew something was slimy about that healer from the beginning—”

            “—weren’t breathing.”

            “Padfoot?”  Remus’s voice was quiet and slightly slurred.  Everyone stopped talking.  Sirius sat in the chair by the bed and grabbed Remus’s hand.  “The man said—”  His face contorted in concentration.  “And I couldn’t find you—and there was so much blood—”  Remus’s breathing got faster.

            “Hush, Moony.  It’s all over.  You’re safe now.”

            “Harry, where’s Harry?”  

            Harry stepped forward hesitantly.  “I’m right here, Remus.”

            Remus smiled and extended his hand, his fingers brushing Harry’s cheeks.  Harry and Sirius shared a confused look.  But Remus only tweaked his nose and continued to smile the same goofy grin.

            “Do you want something to eat, Remus?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

            “No—” he yawned “Tha’s ok.”  Slowly his eyes began to close, only to shoot open again suddenly.  “Sirius!”

            “Yes, love?”

            “Don’t—don’t you dare talk about leaving me again.  Don’t you dare.  Or I’ll—I’ll kill you and won’t bring you back.”  Ginny snorted and Mrs. Weasley frowned at her.  But Remus was asleep already and did not hear it.

            “He sounds drunk.”  Ron chuckled.

            “No, that’s not a drunk Moony.  Drunk Moony is so much more fun.”  Sirius smirked.  “I should show you sometime.”

            “No you will not,” Mrs. Weasley said with an exasperated sigh.  “I suppose that all those potions are still affecting him a bit.”    

            “Probably.  I’ll get Poppy to come look at him again, though.  I want to make sure that his brain isn’t permanently addled.”

            Madame Pomfrey came and left with news that Remus was, indeed, still working the potions out of his system.  She claimed he would be completely awake by supper time, his mind completely whole.  So when Remus woke for the third time, they were prepared.  Sirius had a tray of food placed on the bedside table, and he and Harry remained in the bedroom all evening.  The others left them alone on the idea that Remus would want to hear what happened from family.

            Harry was worried that he’d act ‘drunk’ again, but Remus’s eyes were completely clear when he finally woke up.  He glanced from Sirius’s anxious face to Harry’s concerned one before running his hand through his hair and sighing.

            “So.  What glorious misadventure befell me this time?”  Harry handed him a glass of water to soothe his throat, which sounded dry and scratchy.

            “How much do you remember?”  Sirius wiped his brow with a wet cloth.  

            “I recall being in a hospital.  But then I was here and performing the spell.”  Remus sat up abruptly, knocking Sirius’s hand aside.  “Harry!  Can you see him?  Did it work?”

            “It worked perfectly, Remus.”  Harry offered a small smile.  “Best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.  Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome, I guess.  I’m a bit confused, however.  How come _I’m_ the one in a bed convalescing?  And why is my memory fuzzy?  The graphorn wound wasn’t that bad.”

            Sirius chuckled.  “Well, now I know you’re fine.  ‘Convalescing’?”

            “Sirius, what happened?”  Remus’s voice was absolutely sober.  

            Harry decided that he should start the explanation.  Sirius was looking anywhere but at Remus.  “You tumbled into the kitchen with a bleeding arm.  They whisked you away to St. Mungo’s for treatment, but they kept you there for ‘observation’.”

            “Because they thought I was crazy.”

            “Right.  Well, the healer working on you was—he was—”

            “A right bastard that deserves to have his heart ripped out with a spoon,” Sirius interrupted.  His eyes were bright with anger.  “He decided to make you insane beyond help so that he could kill you off.  The Ministry should kill him—he’s the monster.”

            “How did he try that?  I don’t remember much from the hospital.”

            “Potions,” Harry answered.  “They muddled your mind.  Made you see things.”

            “But how was I able to get here to complete the spell?”

            Harry fidgeted.  “I sort of—broke you out.”  Remus turned shocked eyes onto him.  “Well, _I_ didn’t actually break you out.  I just—gave you the information to do so.”  He felt the heat rising to his cheeks.  

            “Harry James Potter.  That was a very Marauder thing to do.  I’m not sure if I approve.”  Remus turned to Sirius.  “Was it executed well, Mr. Padfoot?” 

            “Oh, yes, Mr. Moony.” Sirius chuckled.  “Masterfully.  Right under McGonagall’s nose, too.”

            “Alternate plans?”

            “Definitely lacking.”

            “Style-wise?”

            “A little sloppy.  Could have used some more pizzazz.”

            Harry felt a grin come to his face.  “Hey, the plan was simple and effective.  And from what I hear, you caused quite a riot when you left.  Dumbledore had to go in and smooth things over with security.  By the way, Hal sends his greetings.”

            “Who?  Never mind.  Perhaps I’ll let this one slide, then.  But Mr. Padfoot, our Harry has been woefully undereducated.  We should work on that.”

            “Noted.”  Sirius’s face became somber again.  “Without Harry, things would have fallen apart completely.”

            Remus picked at the blankets.  “So I came here, and performed the spell.  And it worked.”

            “Yes.  But by that time, the potions had kicked in.  You were actually lost in your own mind.”

            “How ironic.”  He gave a humorless laugh.

            “We were able to fix it, though,” Harry interrupted.  Things were getting a little too gloomy for his liking.  “You were given an antidote.  You’re healthy, and Sirius is alive.  Perfect.”

            “Not so fast, Harry.”  Remus turned to Sirius.  “We couldn’t have gotten away completely unscathed.  These potions—any lingering effects?”   

            “Possible side effects include sleeplessness, scattered thoughts, and most probably an overdose of mothering—those female-types just can’t wait to get their paws on you.”  Sirius winked at Remus.  “Apparently a vulnerable male brings out all the crazy maternal instincts in force.  I nearly had to chase Molly away with a broom.”

            “He really means that they played tug-o-war with your dinner,” Harry added, “and he only won because Mrs. Weasley had to stop Fred from blowing us all up.”  With a smirk, he glanced at Sirius.  “That man is worse than all those ‘female-types’ combined.  The Mother of all mother hens.”

            “Now, I must protest at the blatant insult to my character and manhood—”

            “Manhood?”  He looked at Remus.  “He put daisies by your bed!”

            “They brighten the place up a bit—add some character to the drab décor.”  Sirius paused once he realized what he was saying.  “Hey, that was low—”

            “I always had to come up here to talk to him.  He never came downstairs,” Harry continued.

            “For the record, I did not ignore my godson, evil little git that he is.  We—we played chess!  And talked—about stuff.  Godfatherly stuff.”

            “Yeah, right.  It was nothing but ‘Remus this’ and ‘Remus that’ and ‘Did you know that Remus can tie a cherry stem into a knot _with his tongue_?’”  

            “C’mon!  His tongue is very flexible.  That’s a very useful skill to have.”  Sirius winked sexily at Remus. 

            Harry blanched.  “That was something I did _not_ want to know.  Anyway, he’s been doing nothing but hovering over you every day.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t even think he’s taken time for a shower.”

            “Oh, that’s a complete lie and you know it!  Slander!”

            “Well, Padfoot,” Remus finally spoke up.  He sniffed the air.  “You do smell a bit like sweaty feet.”  He sniffed again.  “And perhaps raw sewage.”

            Harry shared a chuckle with Remus while Sirius huffed.  Color was beginning to return to Remus’s cheeks, and Harry thought that his former professor looked a lot younger when he laughed.  He was quite certain that none of them had smiled this much in ages.

            “I’ll have you know, Mr. Lupin,” Sirius continued, mockingly solemn, “that you have been lying in a bed for four days.  If it hadn’t been for my _most excellent_ Freshening and Cleansing Spells, you would also smell like rotten eggs.  And I have showered.”  He stuck his tongue out at Harry.

            “Has it really been four days?”  Remus asked, his joviality suddenly gone.

            Sirius’s face became truly somber.  “Aye.  Some of the longest four days of my life.”

            “We knew you were going to be fine once the fever broke,” Harry added, “but it was still worrisome to see you unconscious day after day.”

            “Seriously, now.  Are there going to be any repercussions?  For either of us?”  Remus’s face was cautiously blank, but Harry could see the worry in his eyes.  His godfather took Remus’s hand and kissed it.  He suddenly felt like an intruder, and opted to remain silent while Sirius explained everything.  

            “Madame Pomfrey has researched everything she could on the subject.  Florence Dulaney got everything she could from St. Mungo’s.  Unfortunately, no one has ever really written on it.  But from what they gathered, there will be some long term effects.”

            “Like what?”   

            “You’ll have nightmares, intense ones.  Frequently.  Poppy said something about your relaxed consciousness and susceptibility to the hallucinations, but she’s looking into some kind of potion to stop you from experiencing them too often.”

            Remus’s gave a resigned sigh.  “What else?”

            “The only other thing that they came up with was a possible diminished capacity for focusing intently on something.  A wandering mind.”  Sirius smiled slightly.  “You’ll become more like me.”   

            “So that’s it then.  Not too bad.”

            “Not too bad?  Remus,” Sirius leaned forward, “you could have lost your mind, you could have _died_ from the antidote—”  

            “And you _did_ die, Padfoot.  But you’re alive now, and that’s all that matters.  Which reminds me, are there any long term effects for you?”

            “Well, you said that there shouldn’t be, and you combed through that spell for hours so you should know.  Poppy gave me a clean bill of health, too.  She said my only problem was a bad diet.  She’s determined to make me fat by Halloween.”

            Remus placed a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes.  Harry looked quizzically at Sirius, but he merely smiled in reassurance.  Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to Harry.  “How are you doing?  And the others?”

            “I’m fine.  I’m almost done my homework.  Hermione’s angry at Ron, though.  She’s under the impression that since Ron liked your book, there’s a scholar somewhere inside him and he should read more.  Honestly, Ron just liked the adventures you described.  It was more fiction than facts for him.”

            “I suspected as much.  At least I got him somewhat interested in reading.”

            “Everyone else is fine as well.  Especially now that the house isn’t as depressing.”

            At Remus’s puzzled look, Sirius spoke up.  “I made some changes while you were asleep.  Took the house-elf heads down.  And transfigured some of the more sinister furnishings.”

            “Don’t forget your mum,” Harry added with a grin.

            “Ah, yes.  That was a moment to treasure.”  Sirius smiled contentedly.  “She started screeching again, so I took her down.  I wanted to burn it, but it didn’t seem right to set fire to something that could talk.  She’s in the attic right now.”

            “Wait one moment!” Remus interrupted.  “How did you get past the Sticking Charms?  How—”

            “It’s complicated.  But basically, I finally listened to you.  I now have complete authority over this house.”

            “You can tell me the details some other time.  My head is starting to hurt.”  Remus reached for the tray of food.  “I’m hungry enough to eat a hippogriff.”  

            “Do you want us to stay?” Harry asked. 

            “Yes, please.  I enjoy the company.” 

            As Remus dug into his dinner, Sirius told him all the latest gossip in the wizarding world, including rumors of a re-trial for that dangerous mass murderer Sirius Black.  Occasionally, Harry would contribute some information, but mostly he was content to just listen and watch.  He noticed the small gestures between Remus and Sirius that he had missed before—the brush of hands, the glances, the smiles.  Sirius was nearly glowing from the inside, and Remus looked entirely at ease.  Envy started to boil in his stomach, but he stopped it quickly.  Catching a wink from Sirius, Harry felt himself calming.  _I don’t need to be jealous of that,_ he thought.  Remus tweaked Harry’s nose at the punch-line of some joke.  _I’m part of it._           

 

~~

 

In a corner of London inside a house no one could see, Remus Lupin woke with a gasp.  The sheets on the bed were tangled and the air still rang with silent screams.  He sat up and stared in horror at his hands, mesmerized by something only he was witness to.  Only a few seconds had passed before a glass of water was placed in those hands.  His eyes still out of focus, Remus looked up into clear grey eyes and a worried face.  The man placed his warm, solid hands over Remus’s to steady the glass and bring it to his lips.  

            “Drink, love.”  Remus drank.  The hands took the glass away.  “Now take a deep breath.”  Remus inhaled.

            The bed shifted as the man— _Sirius_ —climbed in next to him.  Gentle hands rubbed soothing circles over his back.

            “Your name is Remus Lupin, and you’re the most handsome wizard I have ever seen,” Sirius— _friend, lover_ —murmured in his ear.  “You are currently in Grimmauld Place, lying on top a respectable Black family bed after a very pleasurable evening on top a disreputable Black.  I’m here, I’m real, and I love you.”   

            Remus’s thoughts began to focus, though he was still shivering uncontrollably.  

            “Harry’s safe at Hogwarts, though quite possibly incurring the wrath of McGonagall as we speak,” Sirius continued, still rubbing his back.  “The wards have not been tampered with, the Order has not sent out any alerts, and the full moon is fifteen days away—although you were howling quite admirably earlier.  Are you back with me, yet?”

            Remus exhaled slowly.  He glanced sideways at Sirius.  “I’m not handsome.”  

            Sirius let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  This would be one of the better nights.  “Would you prefer pretty?  Because I can definitely picture you as pretty.”

            “Prat.”  The shivering was slowly subsiding.  “You know,” he contemplated, “it was slightly over a year ago that our roles were reversed.  You were the one with nightmares.”

            “Mmhmm.”  Sirius kissed his shoulder.  “But you were able to soothe them all away.”

            “Are you going to get all sappy on me, Padfoot?”  Remus lay back down with a smile on his face.

            “Me?  Sappy?”  Sirius scoffed.  “Never.”  He curled up behind Remus.  Ever since the potion-induced hallucinations, they found that Remus slept better with Sirius pressed against his back.  “Good night, my autumn sunrise, my bookish prince, my pretty werewolf of hot lovin’…”

            “Good night, you—you silly puppy,” Remus interrupted.  He yawned and burrowed deeper into the blankets.  “Love you, Sirius.” He mumbled into his pillow.

            Sirius stroked hair away from Remus’s face.  Merlin, how he loved that hair, including the streaks of grey.  “I love you, too, Remus.”  He continued rubbing his hand up and down Remus’s side until all of the shivering had stopped.  Wrapping his arm around his chest, Sirius closed his eyes and sighed.  Things were not perfect, but they were still doing just fine.  

            During the day, Remus looked out for Sirius.  He made sure that Sirius did not give in to despair or anxiety.  Azkaban would always have its mark on him, but he was getting better.  At night—at night it was Remus that needed comfort and protection from his demons.  And Sirius was always ready to provide that comfort.  Just before Remus drifted off to sleep, he whispered again.

            “’M glad I found you.”

            Sirius inhaled his lover’s scent and pulled the thin body closer.  Remus’s breathing was deep and even, indicating that he had finally fallen asleep.  

            “I’m glad, too, Moony,” Sirius whispered.  “I’m glad, too.”


End file.
